


Memoirs of the Only Love I've Ever Had

by TheBigLoserQueen



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Blood, Blood Drinking, Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Diary, Diary/Journal, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fiction, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Journal, Multi, NaNoWriMo, NaNoWriMo 2016, Original Fiction, POV First Person, Paranormal, Past Lives, Past Relationship(s), Reincarnation, Romance, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Supernatural Elements, Tragedy, Vampires, mild violence, nano - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-08-29 13:19:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 25,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8491249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBigLoserQueen/pseuds/TheBigLoserQueen
Summary: Immortality is a gift as much as it is a curse. During his long life as a vampire, Benedict took up writing in a journal to help him ease his loneliness. While he continues to live on and watch the world change right before his eyes, his soulmate is reincarnated as a different person time and time again. And all Benedict can do is search for them, hoping to be a part of their new life each time and love them just as much as the first time he met them.





	1. August 11, 1934

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my 2016 NaNo project! 
> 
> This story is also available of my WattPad account, but some of my friends didn't want to make WattPad accounts in order to read this. SO I posted it here for easier access. Enjoy?

My name is Benedict Wright. And I have no idea who you might be, but whoever you are, I hope life is treating you far kinder than it has treated me and many others.

If you are reading this, you would probably like to know the owner of this journal, I'm sure. Though I have no idea where you might have found it. Chances are you have found it in a dump or in someone's abandoned attic, where it hasn't seen the light of day in centuries.

Whatever the case may be, you have found this and are no doubt reading it out of curiosity. That is what prompted me to start writing in the first place, I think. Curiosity. And perhaps loneliness.

Jamie would have found it funny: I have lived a long time and yet I only decided to start writing now.

Perhaps I am just tired of waiting. Perhaps I just want someone, even if that someone is you, a person I will never meet, to hear what I have to say. If it ever even sees the light of day because God knows I haven't in years.

What you are about to read is a pitiful attempt at an autobiography. So, kind reader, if an old man's tale is not something you take much interest in, throw it back into whatever pile you dug this up from. I am not much of a writer. But I need something to do in the free time I have. Too much of it, really.

If you care to know, I am a vampire. An old one at that. You may think I'm lying, reader, but that's all right. Take this journal as fiction. Perhaps you will find some enjoyment out of it. Something to pass the time.

I was born in England in a small village out in the countryside, on the 23rd of February, 1664. It has been so long that I honestly cannot remember much about my childhood. But I remember I had a father named William, a mother named Alice, and an older sister named Margaret. Our house was averaged sized, I suppose. I honestly cannot recall much about the house. I remember it being white and my mother had tulips growing by the front door.

Margaret was five years older than I was. She wanted to be a governess, but she was never very studious. And, objectively speaking of course, she was a pretty girl. Fair skin, dark brown hair, a full face, and bright brown eyes – she had married easily when she turned of age. Though, when I was boy, I would often make fun of her appearance, her hair especially due to its volume. I was a terror to her, I'm certain. Perhaps that was why we quarreled over silly things so much as children. Toys and food and what was fair and not fair, typical petty fights. But we got along well enough when we were older and I matured more. I think my mother was grateful for that.

Both my sister and I were close to Mother. She always smelled like tulips and blackberries. She was soft and kind, though she never hesitated to punish me if I was naughty. I often felt like she would take Margaret's side over my own, but when my strongest argument was "because it's not fair," I suppose I would have taken my opponent's side as well. Her hugs were warm and her lullabies soothed me; I can still vaguely recall her voice when she sang.

Father was hardly ever home, being a fisherman, so I do not remember much of him. He had a beard, a deep voice, and a gentle hand whenever he patted my head. That is all I can recall. It doesn't help that he passed away when I was only ten. Margaret probably remembered him more than I do. Mother even more than both of us.

But I do remember Mother loved him and he loved my mother. And I think he loved my sister and I too. Whenever Father came home from the sea, he always brought back a toy for me, a dress for Margaret, and flowers for Mother. I used to wonder why flowers, since they would just wilt and eventually die. But I think now I understand, recalling how Mother was always so happy with the flowers.

As for the village, I remember it was always green. The neighbors were kind, even kinder after Father passed away. There was a small river by our house where the village boys used to play. After lessons, the other boys and I would go down there and ruined are uniforms and good shows, often resulting in punishment. It never did teach us anything though because always the next day, we were down there by that river and making a mess.

I was fond of that river. Much tamer than the sea, Mother would say. Margaret and I would often go out there late at night during the summer to catch fireflies together. We normally had a contest: whoever caught the most would get the last piece of blackberry pie. It was perhaps the only time we would play fairly with each other, so focused on getting fireflies we didn't think to bother each other in our searches. Thankfully, we were evenly matched when it came finding them.

But when I was at the river, I could think. The sound of the gentle rushing water used to calm me down when Mother couldn't. Especially when I grew older and the pressure of needing to take on an apprenticeships started to increase. Margaret wanted me to follow in my father's footsteps. Mother suggested something government work, though that probably had to do with her not wanting me to become like my father. My professor wanted me to also become an educator, believing I had potential.

As foolish and cliché as it probably sounds, I was never interested in anything like that; I wanted to be an explorer. I had been brought up to admire Christopher Columbus and other adventurers and it became a dream of mine to be a world famous explorer, to have my name in history books for generations to come.

But that never happened, of course. My name has never appeared in a textbook and probably never will, considering my travels hold little significance. Still, as a young boy, everything seemed possible. And during a time where people were starting to travel to the American colonies and start a new life, my dreams seemed like a realistic future.

And as expected, it was actively discouraged. Margaret thought it foolish, though by this time she was already married and pregnant with her first child. Childish dreams of her has died long ago. Mother was against it, not wanting me to go somewhere and never come back like Father. My professor simply said there was nothing left to explore, so I needed to focus on "more important and realistic matters."

But I did have one friend I remember a bit vividly, James Kirkland. He had been my friend since we were small, our mother birthing us only three weeks apart from each other. He was much more rambunctious than I was. It might have had to do with the fact that he three older sisters and he was the only boy in his house. His father spoiled him and let him get away with probably more than he should have. I can remember a time James had put a dead spider in his sister's soup; you could hear her screams throughout the entire village.

He didn't discourage me. In fact, he did the opposite, citing he wanted to be an explorer as well. We had both agreed that when we became men, we would travel to the colonies together and start life there. "We would discover land beyond the colonies!" he liked to say. And I said it too, having visions of exotic lands and treasure waiting to be found.

I was painfully naïve. And perhaps I still am too. I still wander the world, exploring and searching for Jamie. Even though it hurts, I'm still looking. Foolish, I tell myself all the time, so foolish.

But it has never deterred me. If anything, it only encourages me more.


	2. August 12, 1934

I just became aware my thoughts escaped me last night and I mentioned Jamie. Twice. I warned you, reader, I'm not much of a writer. But forgive me nonetheless.

On the 16th of May, 1686, two years before the Glorious Revolution and just a few short months after I had my twenty-second birthday, I went against the wishes of my elders and boarded a ship to the American colony of Massachusetts. Fortunately, James had already left for the colonies three years prior with other work members of a tobacco company, so I would not be going to America blindly and without a place to work or stay.

The voyage had been most unpleasant. I will spare you and myself the details of retelling the dreary journey. Besides, I'm certain you have read the history books and I can say that, for the most part, they're fairly accurate. Disease and death weren't uncommon and neither was the copious amounts of vomit from seasick passengers. The journey was long, tedious, and occasionally dangerous whenever a bad storm came.

On that ship, I can safely say that I did feel like I would die. There had been a terrible storm, waves knocking against the sides harm as the sky screeched with deafening booms and bright lights. Men were screaming, shouting, swearing like there was a war. And there was one, with the sea. The unforgiving, apathetic sea that threw the passengers and almost threw me overboard.

Just like how they told Mother Father had died. Thrown overboard and drowned at the hands of the angry sea. Had I left this Earth the same way, Mother would have died of a broken heart, I'm sure. Perhaps that was why God spared me that night. I think about it more often than I probably should. If I had died that night, I wouldn't be writing this. I wouldn't be alive after so many decades. I never would have met Jamie.

The ship didn't reach port until the 30th of June that same year. And once I had stepped off of that boat, I vowed to never set foot on another ship again. I had dealt with enough water in that one ship ride to last me a lifetime, even if this life is endless. There are days where I can still smell the sea, even if I'm surrounded by cracked and dry desserts for miles.

James was there to greet me. He no longer worked in tobacco, but instead worked on the docks and dealing with ship cargo. He was still as lanky as ever, if I recall correctly, but he had grown himself a great red beard and smelled like a tavern. Fortunately, he hadn't been drunk, but he was certainly in the mood for it. I was not so keen on the idea of going out to drink in a strange town I knew nothing about. And I certainly didn't want to have to deal with a drunken friend and try to find our way to a place I didn't know the address of.

I do not know if Boston is still around in your time period, reader, but it is a terrible place. I can still remember how much I hated it then and though I have visited it time and time again throughout the decades, I still hate it now. It is a noisy place and the streets smell like liquor. Not to mention the buildings were tall and ugly, as if they were trying to be something grander than they actually were. I always find the people their rude. Or simply arrogant. Though occasionally, they have been both.

James, thankfully, had not been changed much by Boston. He was still chipper and still my friend who was able to provide me with a place to stay and with a job. We still had our dreams of exploration, but the reality of adulthood had hit us long before we ever went to America. You needed money to travel and you needed a job to earn money. And while I wasn't the strongest of men, working in cargo paid for boarding and food. Eventually, I had thought it would pay for a means of travel.

Not too far from the main city, we lived in a large boarding house where many of the bachelor workers lived. The landlord, a Harry Peterson, was an older gentleman, round and bald but always wearing a jovial grin, who created me as if I were an old friend. His wife, Marie, was much more stiff and standoffish, but she meant well. Before I could even introduce myself to her, she had been the one to give me something to eat and guided me to my room.

I don't remember much of it, except that it was pitiful with two meager beds on opposites sides of the white room with a single large wooden dresser. And since James already had a roommate, I shared the room with a young man named Gilbert. He was quiet, keeping to himself most of the time, short but strong with sandy blonde hair that always looked like it had been cut with a rusty butter knife.

But Gilbert, after a few weeks of living together, proved to be good company. He enjoyed fishing and going to the tavern every now and then, more for relaxation than anything else. He was a much better drinking companion than James, who's only goal seemed to be getting himself into a stupor. But perhaps that was for the best, because had I not gotten closer to Gilbert, I never would have met his sister.

Jamie. Jamie Baker. Born in the colony of Virginia before moving up to Massachusetts once her father became a judge. Gilbert had been disowned by his family, for what, I never asked, but June continued to write him. Sometimes visit him if she had someone to escort her. And it was because of my friendship with him I was able to meet her when she came down to visit.

She is and always will be the only thing I remember perfectly from that time. Jamie Baker, daughter of Judge Joseph Baker and his wife Mary Anne. Born on the 12th of October A plump woman, thick and small with an apple face and a good appetite. Long, curly chestnut chair that came down to her breasts, pretty hazel eyes that turned a light shade of green in the sun. She always wore a smile, her soft pink lips always curling up before she let out a sweet girlish giggle. She was so kind to me, a stranger when we first met, politely engaging me in conversation even though she was there to see her brother.

I regret not being a better writer, reader. And I am certainly not an artist, so I dare not attempt to disgrace her with a hideous portrait. I can assure you though, she was beautiful. Like a painting that needed to be on display in museums. To be admired and praised and loved. If only photography had been around during this time period; I would have included a photo for you. And perhaps would have kept many more to myself.

Admittedly though, despite my fondness of Jamie now, it was not love at first sight. My initial thoughts were ignorant; I believed her to be plain and simple like her older brother. I had seen more physically beautiful women wander by the docks with their husbands and friends. My only excuse for being so blind was due to my dream. I had no interest in looking at a woman while saving up to travel with my friend.

Thinking back on it now, that was probably the beginning of the end of that dream. The day I met Jamie was the day my fate had been sealed. And even though things are the way they are now, I do not regret it, reader. And I never will.


	3. August 15, 1934

Though I had promised myself I would try to write every night, I'm not very good on staying on top of things. The only thing to be said in my defense is that the last two nights have indeed been hectic. Strangers believing they're capable of stealing my things. But I do not blame them. Times are hard right now and many people are out of work. The strangers had been older men, probably with families that needed to be fed. I gave them each a hundred dollars; I have money to spare, so it was the least I could do.

Jamie would have done the same, too. When we first started to know each other, I had seen her give out bread to some of the poorer, dirtier children on the street corners. She always said that if you have something to spare, you have too much of it.

That was what made me fall in love with her. To society, she was not the most beautiful, not the most attractive, not the most elegant. But she was the most caring and the most loving, never judging, only wanting to help. Her smile was sincere, her laugh was genuine – I have never met a more honest person in my life.

Her tastes were admittedly simple, but it suited her well. She liked nature and talking strolls through green roads and flower fields. She had a cat, a calico she called Chrissy, and she said she wanted more but her father wouldn't let her. She wanted to be a baker, but they didn't hire women to work, so she was left to making food at home for her father with her mother. So she changed her dream from being a baker to having a family. A big family, at least three children, living in a homey cottage in the countryside, far from Boston but close to friends. And the cottage had to have plenty of open space to allow for a small stable and a big kitchen where she could bake all the pies and pastries she wanted.

And she certainly made delicious food. She believed food should bring your happiness when you eat it and her food always did. I still remember the first time she provided food for me. It was the third time I had met her when she came to visit her brother. She had given me two biscuits, but even after all of this time, they are still the best biscuits I've ever had. They dissolved in my mouth, flavors exploding with each bite. I crave them even now.

But it was more than just the biscuits I craved. At the time, my dream of becoming an explorer was dwindling quickly. Four years had passed since I had arrived in Boston, but I was nowhere near having enough money to "explore the world." James had settled into his routine; his promise to me had been reduced to a childish daydream and whimsical fantasy. He was more interested in drinking and flirting with pretty women than he was with adventure. We had even drifted apart because of it. 

I had other friends, thankfully, men I had met both in the boarding house and at the docks. Gilbert and I had become close too, which allowed me to see Jamie more and more often. While he admired my passion for exploration, it was him who kept me grounded. That I couldn't simply ignore the way the world worked. His words were encouragement were always "Well, do your best."

Perhaps that was all he could say though, knowing anything else would simply dishearten me or undermine my efforts. He was never a man to be rude, much like his sister. Good people, both of them really.

Jamie had come to visit Gilbert when he was at the market, so I was left to entertain her in the backyard of the boarding house. I must have been quite sullen because she had asked me what was wrong. I'm not sure what possessed me to tell her what had been bothering, but I did. My dreams were dwindling, the man I had considered a childhood friend was no longer even an acquaintance, I was always going to live in that boarding house, I would never see the world like I had dreamed.

She listened quietly the entire time. Never interrupted, eyes always focused on me, nodding every now and then. She listened intently, seriously. A conversation that I probably shouldn't have been having with a woman at the time, but did anyway. It felt easy to speak with her about anything. That no matter what, she wouldn't judge or dismiss me.

And my feelings were right. She patted my head and smiled gently at me. My dreams may have been far away, but they weren't impossible. "You have to look for opportunities around you," she had said. "You can't simply look forward. You have to look side to side and maybe even backwards when searching for your dream."

I had asked what she meant. She patted my head once more and said, "Sometimes your dream isn't a straight path. Sometimes you have to make turns and loops and retrace your steps. Maybe even go on a new path, even if that path leads to a different dream."

It was comforting. And it was the beginning of a new dream. A better dream that I ever would have imagined, reader. To live in the countryside, in a cottage far enough from Boston but close enough to friends. Where I would have a large family and come home every day from work to eat wonderful food with my family made by my beautiful wife. My beautiful wife Jamie, to be by her side and become her provider, her protector, her lover.

Instead of saving up to explore the world, I saved up for a new suit. For new shoes. Since she was the daughter of an esteemed judge, I couldn't very well ask for her hand in marriage dressed like a beggar. Her father never would have allowed it... I might have not have been equal rank in society with her or her family, but I could at the very least show I was sincere in my efforts.

Fortunately, I had Gilbert's blessing. He had been a little confused over my plans, not understanding how I could jump from one dream to another so quickly. But with his blessing, he helped me prepare for the day I planned to meet Jamie's father. He told me what to do and what not to do when interacting with the stubborn proud judge. And he warned me to not mention his name; as far as Judge Baker was concerned, he had no son.

I thought that was cruel and had told him to perhaps speak to his father again, so they could put their differences aside. It was painfully naïve suggestion though; Gilbert used to tell me he was fortunate that all his father did was disown him. I couldn't understand it until a few years after Gilbert had passed away. I'm sure you are aware of how those who are different are treated, whether it is their skin color, their religion, who they love, who they hate, etc. I've been alive long enough to observe many injustices this "land of the free" has to offer. And a man who loves another man can suffer more than simple disownment.

Jamie must have known about it. But she loved Gilbert all the same, even though many in our time would have treated him like an outcast and abandoned him. Perhaps even kill him. Gilbert was fortunate enough to never had a hand raised at him for his affections, but I can only imagine what hiding it must have felt like. I have my own secrets I have to hide. He had to not only hide himself, but lie. Over and over again, just to survive. That is a pain I will never understand.

I have to shamefully admit, had I known, I probably would have rejected him too. Because I would have seemed him ill or disabled or a sinner. Dear reader, if you also believe these things, let me assure you, my friend Gilbert was not ill nor a sinner. He went to church every Sunday, he was a kind man who spared money to those who needed it, and he was always there when you needed him. He loved a god who hated him and loved the world He created. Gilbert was one of His children and if God hates one of his own children, I have to wonder what sort of God is that? A father is supposed to love his children unconditionally, isn't he?

The sun is starting to rise now. I will have to stop here tonight and ramble again tomorrow. Forgive me, reader.


	4. August 20, 1934

I have given up on the idea of writing every night. I have decided to only write when I have the urge, even if that urge is only every now and then. Still, I will not give up on this. If I do, I might go crazy from loneliness.

It took me a few months to save up enough money for the nice suit and shoes. Gilbert was generous enough to spare me a few coins for them. I was lucky he found my worthy of his sister that he was willing to help him. According to him, he was worried Judge Baker would marry her off to the first wealthy fool who showed interest. Since Jamie was the only one who loved him after knowing who he was, he wanted her to be happy too.

I had not told Jamie about my intentions. I had no idea if she even returned my affections and I did not want to get my hopes up if her father rejected my proposal. Perhaps I should have though. As it turned out, Jamie desired me as much as I did her. She probably would have eloped with me. She was never one to care for her reputation. She just wanted to be happy, regardless of what people thought. But this was something I did not know at the time, so I went to see her father to ask permission.

It was a mid-afternoon in August, 1690, when I showed up to the Baker household. I had written a letter a month before, telling him I had interest in marrying his young daughter. Following Gilbert's advice, I made sure that it was formal and polite and that I explained who I was, where I came from, and what I did. Since I was from England, Gilbert assured me Judge Baker would take to me more kindly. He was incredibly loyal to the crown, so he probably believed I would be as well. Something we could potentially have in common.

But Gilbert practically begged me to lie in my letter. Lie about my goals, my situation, anything I could get away with lying, lie about. Never mention I wanted to explore the world. Never mention I knew Jamie through him. Say that my goals were simple and mundane, to advance into higher society and do good for the crown and its people. It made me uncomfortable to lie, but I was desperate. Thankfully, I did have some truth to back up my lies. My former professor told me I had the potential to work in a lawyer's office or a bank, which is what my mother had hoped I would do instead of coming to America.

It must have worked because Judge Baker had responded to my letter positively. That he and his wife would "look forward to" having dinner with me. He called me ambitious in his letters, so I had to assume he seemed somewhat impressed. At least that was what I had hoped at the time.

I had been incredibly intimidated when stepping up to their estate. It was a large building, more likely something that had been inherited as opposed to something he had earned. Definitely a man of old money. Even if his family had not been here long. And at the door, a butler greeted me and took my coat before escorting me to where I can assume was the parlor.

Believe me when I say that there is nothing more intimidating than being judged by a man who could make or crush your dreams with one word. Judge Baker was a large man, fat and tall with a stern face and grey all over. He smoked a pipe and the air around him always smelled like tobacco; it reminded me of Father's employer. Harsh and arrogant and generally judgmental. Father used to tell Margaret and I to not let such people manipulate us into becoming mindless cattle. We would nod our heads in agreement and act as if we could handle ourselves. Of course, when faced with this sort of situation in reality, it is a lot harder to act all high and mighty.

Like any proper gentleman, I introduced myself before Judge Baker offered me a seat across from him. I swear I was sweating profusely as he looked me up and down. He asked me a question every once in a while, though I can't even remember what he said. I had only been focused on not fainting right out of my chair. I had to stay strong for Jamie, even though I felt ready to collapse at any second.

Then he asked me, "Why the docks?"

The question had baffled me so much that I had stuttered when I asked for a clarification.

"You have been working at the docks for a long time now. With your background, why didn't you go into law or business?"

I could not tell him the truth. Gilbert's advice continued to run through my mind, over and over again. Never tell him what my true aspirations were. Never admit to only being in the colonies because of a childhood dream. If I did that, I might as well have escorted myself out the door. My parents had done their best to raise an honest man, but at the moment, I couldn't be one. Father would have rolled his grave when I told Judge Baker I had looked into such positions. But I had no one to sponsor me outside of a job at the docks or any other manual labor tasks.

He seemed to buy it, commenting about how they didn't seem to give young British men a chance when we came from the motherland to here. I would have said such a claim was false, but I stilled my tongue. That was all I really did for the entire evening – hold my tongue and lie. It was painful, it made my chest hurt and palms sweat, but I forced my way through it. I prayed that it wouldn't last long, but the conversation just seemed to drag on and on and on. And it was really about absolutely nothing other than politics, tobacco, and England.

Occasionally, I was graced with a few questions about me, which I answered as best as I could. But it bothered me that he never asked me why. Why did I want to marry his only daughter. Why did I believe that I could make her happy. Mother had asked all of these questions when Margaret's husband came to meet us.

Gilbert had warned me I wouldn't care of the man. I didn't understand just how right he would be. But alas, I smiled through it all. It seemed as if things were going well and I actually found myself growing confident that he would want me for a son-in-law.

And then he told me, "Have you ever considered working in a courtroom, Mister Wright?"

I replied calmly, "No sir, the thought never occurred."

"Would you like to?"

At the time of the question, it did not occur to me that he was about to offer me a well-paying position in his field. After all, despite my skills in writing and understanding both history and law, I was a mere laborer. Why would I come to the conclusion that a judge would offer me a position in an esteemed profession?

"I can't have a laborer for a son-in-law," he said. "My daughter is a girl of higher society. It would be a disgrace if I allowed her to marry someone who can't even provide for her."

It annoyed me to know he was merely doing this for his own sake, but he did bring up a good point. If Jamie were to be my wife, I would only want her to have the best. And the cottage of her dreams couldn't be gained with the little money I had been making at the docks. Not to mention I needed money to support the large family she wanted. I had to make her happy. But I also had to be humble about this offer.

I pretended that his offer was kind, but would it be right for me to accept such a position? Judge Baker insisted though. It would only be a clerk and I could gradually work my way up in the field as time went on, assuring a better quality of life for Jamie and I and our future children; he was expecting many grandsons.

What else could I do but accept his generous offer? If I did turn him down, I didn't doubt that he would simply turn me away. Being trapped at a desk may have been the opposite of exploring the world, but in my mind, it was worth the sacrifice. I could not explore, I may have been bound, but I would have Jamie. I would love her, marry her, and make her the happiest wife in the world.

I had gotten Judge Baker's permission and Gilbert's blessing, but for me, those two had been meaningless compared to Jamie's consent. If she did not see me as a potential husband, I wasn't going to force her into a marriage with me. I had feared she would reject me, but I prepared myself for it. If I did fail to win her heart, I had planned to return to England. Start anew, perhaps, I'm still not entirely sure what I would have done.

All I can recall was that asking Jamie was much more stressful than asking her father. 


	5. August 21, 1934

I'm thinking about moving, reader. I'm practically dead and yet, the summers here are simply too humid. Everything just feel so unclean. I cannot produce any sweat, but being surrounded by all this humidity certainly makes me feel as if I'm about to drown.

It reminds of when I told Jamie about my proposal. I don't think I have ever been as nervous and sweaty as I was during that moment. It is a fond memory now, but at the time, it was like a personal torture. Everything leading up to the hot day made my entire body stiff and slick as if I had been working at the docks for three days straight without rest.

Jamie had come to visit Gilbert again, a few days after I had met with Judge Baker. I had told Gilbert his father had approved of me, so when Jamie came to visit, he asked me to accompany her for the day and lied about having work. Jamie seemed surprised, but she did not reject my company.

We walked down to the gardens. My nerves were completely rattled and I'm certain Jamie thought I was ill. My mind had been elsewhere, so I made for terrible conversation that day, which made me even more nervous. I believed that if she thought I was stiff or ignoring her, she wouldn't want to marry her. Pitiful logic, but it seemed incredibly plausible to a nervous man.

I had to finally sit us both down on a bench. Fortunately, no one else had been there at the gardens that day. I had feared of onlookers and making a damn fool of myself in front of them. It was embarrassing enough that I knew I would act like a child in front of her during all of this. My pride wouldn't have been able to handle acting like that in front of a dozen others.

"What's wrong, Mister Wright?" she had asked.

I was unable to reply right away. I had no idea how to even get on the topic of marriage. A marriage between the two of us. I had always feared that perhaps she would think I was simply joking and laugh at me. Or worse: that she had given her heart to someone else. It would have crushed me and I would have returned to England with a heavy heart.

But I had finally forced myself to say, "I went to visit your father."

She didn't seem to understand at first. So I had to explain I went to see her father after months of saving up for a brand new suit and shoes. That I had decided I no longer wanted to be an explorer. That I wanted to be her husband, to live with her in her dream home, and provide for her and the large family she always wanted. And just as I had feared, she didn't say anything for the longest time and just stared at me with blank eyes.

Her silence and glaze made my entire body tense up. I felt like an abandoned anchor at the bottom of the sea. I had no idea what she was thinking or how she was feeling. I could only sit there and wait for what felt like an eternity, inwardly scolding myself for not just continuing. I just sat there, stupid and mute.

"You want to marry me?" she finally asked. She did not sound offended or disgusted. Just genuinely curious.

"I do."

"Why?"

I didn't even know how to respond to that. Back then, women never really asked a man why they wanted to marry them. Most of the time, a man would tell the woman's father he wanted to marry her, and the next thing the woman realized, she was in a church and walking down the aisle. I didn't want to do that to Jamie. I wanted her to have a choice in this. And if she said no, then I would accept that. I had been mentally preparing myself for it.

My throat had tried to close up, but I managed to choke out an "Because I love you." I sounded like a shy schoolboy too. Pathetic and feeble, I'm sure.

Another eternity had passed as she just seemed to stare at me. I wish I knew how to read minds. Just so I could have known in that moment what she was thinking. She looked surprised more than anything, which I took as a good sign. But my heart raced as my anxiety grew, waiting for her to answer.

Finally, she said, in a voice unlike her own, timid and quiet and unsure, "You love me?"

"Yes."

"You want to marry me because you love me?"

"Yes."

It took me a few years to I realize something about that single moment. It would have broken my heart if I allowed to think more deeply on it at the time. There were small tears in Jamie's eyes and at the time, I took it as despair. Selfishly, I believed she was upset that I wanted to marry her. It was the exact opposite. Even though Jamie was always smiling, always upbeat and positive and full of life, she wasn't deaf. She knew what others said about her, both men and other women. She knew what went through their minds. It had gone through my head too, as ashamed as I am to admit it.

Jamie was not the most physically beautiful. Nor was she the most elegant. She was plump and heavy, didn't like wearing fancy constricting gowns, didn't care for politics or law, didn't believe it was fair to have so much when others had so little... And she was vocal about her feelings, traits not commonly admired in a woman. She was a woman who enjoyed walks in the park, nature, and food. She wanted to be heard, even when no one wanted to listen.

I had heard a few passing remarks about her, ones that still make my dead blood boil. How men would call her a pig and women would make fun of her lack of powdered face. They said it would take a "special kind of man" to tame "that hog." Reader, my beloved Jamie is no hog and I am no one special. Those men are simply pathetic who will never find happiness with their judgement. Those women are the pigs in lipstick and powder. Even after all this time, I still hate them. Because Jamie knew what they said.

And Jamie had seemed to believe that what they said was true. That she would not be loved. That the only person who would ever marry her would simply use her to get close to her father. She seemed to have accepted her fate. Until I told her I loved her.

So when she cried, I had opened my mouth to perhaps apologizing, believing I had been the one to upset her, when she suddenly grabbed my face and kissed me. I couldn't react, I just sat there, frozen and unsure what was happening. I had never kissed a woman before and I doubt she had ever kissed another man, so neither of us really knew what to do. But by God, she took charge regardless.

And when she pulled away from me, she smiled, tears still in her eyes. Then she said, "I thought it was just me who grew fond of you."

I didn't need her to say anything else. That small, simple confession was enough for me to smile and to pull her back to press her lips to mine. They were soft and moist and they made my lips tingle. My heart was still pounding in my chest. A part of me didn't believe that this was even real. I had already lost my first dream to reality. My second dream seemed just as impossible. But that kiss confirmed it all. That my second dream would become reality, that I would be able to share a future with the woman I loved.

I told her how her father offered me a position in his office. She seemed surprised and had asked if I was really all right with giving up my aspirations as an explorer to become her husband. She didn't want me to sacrifice my dream that I had for so long. All I had to do was assure her with a kiss and a promise, a promise that I would never regret my choice. A promise I have never broken.  


	6. August 28, 1934

There's a terrible rainstorm going on right now. I should be grateful this house is well built; I never have to worry about leaks. Though generally on bad days like this, especially during this depression, people always try to break in. Mainly to just take shelter. I really do wish they would simply knock on the door. I would be more than willing to let them have a place to stay for the night.

My housekeeper might feel differently, but he would most likely be fine. He was a strong young man with a shotgun; he could protect himself in case any guest I invited became unruly.

My housekeeper, Samuel, is a good man. Not very old, only nineteen. He has a good head on his shoulders and always does whatever I need done to perfection, whether it is something to be done in the house or out in the stables. His mother, Amelia, used to be my housekeeper before she passed away. What a wonderful woman Amelia was. She was a very kind woman, despite the numerous hardships she had to face; black women always seem to struggle the most. But even with her struggles, she was understanding and accepting of all people, including someone like me. So long as I didn't feed from her.

Amelia had a daughter, Simone, but she ended up becoming a teacher who still lives in my home in one of the many spare rooms. I'm glad though; she's too intelligent to be forced to settle for a housekeeping position. Samuel had used to be upset about doing "women's work" when he was a teenager, preferring to run off with his friends throughout the day. And unfortunately, unlike his sister, he wasn't very intelligent. School did not come easily to him and he never seemed to have an interest in the academics.

Thankfully, what he lacked in academics, he made up for in his hands. He is quite the handyman, helping repair various utilities around the house. I can tell he would be a wonderful husband one day. I know of several young women who are interested in him, though I'm not sure how he feels about them. I never asked and he is a rather private man.

Jamie would have liked him. If we had ever had a daughter, we would have been happy to have had a son-in-law like Samuel. It's still painful to realize we never got the chance. And we never will either.

But other than the rain, it's a terribly dull night. 


	7. August 31, 1934

Vampires do not dream because we do not sleep. At least technically we don't. We simply allow ourselves to fall into a deep mediation, almost like a sleep, but it is incredibly easy for us to snap out of it. And in these deep mediations, our minds tend to wander to our imaginations or our memories. Whatever you want to classify these images as, I still call them dreams.

And while I slept today, I dreamt of the day Jamie and I married.

It had been a beautiful wedding. Judge Baker had given his wife and daughter all the money they needed to plan Jamie's dream wedding. They had decorated everything with white and pink trim, pink roses everywhere with some of the best food in town provided by the best baker in town. I had offered to help, but both Jamie and Mary Anne had told me no. It was the job of the bride and her family to prepare the wedding. I merely needed to find a nice suit and show up to the church. Perhaps it was for the best though. I doubt I would have been able to add anything stylistically to the décor.

And Jamie... She was so beautiful with her hair up, her make-up light but flawless, all dressed in a white lace ball gown that was fit for a princess. It was like she had fallen out of the fairytale to marry a simple man like me. I wish photography had been possible back then. I would love to have a photography of her as she looked that day.

The weather had been perfect the day we wed. Bright sun, clear skies, and a light breeze to keep us cool. And Judge Baker had been generous and arranged to have Mother come to the colonies for the wedding. She would eventually live with Jamie and I, since taking a trip back would have been too hard on her. And when she had arrived, she brought gifts from Margaret and her family. They sent me their love in letters and Margaret had gifted me a pocket watch, saying that a future lawyer needed to have a good watch.

I'm still not sure why she thought I would become a lawyer. Perhaps she thought when I wrote to her about being offered a position at a courtroom, she thought I was going into learning more about the law. Really though, all I became was a glorified and high-paid clerk, an assistant at best. My letters to her must have confused her.

The only sad bit of the whole wedding was Gilbert's absence. I wanted him there as much as Jamie did. Jamie had begged Judge Baker to allow him to attend, even if it was only for a little while. Mary Anne attempted to persuade her husband, but Judge Baker would have none of it. He called Gilbert an abomination and that he wasn't allowed anywhere a holy and sacred event such as a wedding.

Jamie had been too heartbroken to break the news to Gilbert, so I had to be the one to do it. I apologized over and over again. So many times while he just smiled sadly. He assured me he knew this would happen and it was all right. He only asked that he could come visit our home one day and that Jamie would wear her wedding dress. Just so he could see what she looked like.

I agreed before he gave me a letter to hand a Jamie. I never read it, because it wasn't mine to look over. But Jamie had cried while smiling when she had read it. I still do not know what Gilbert had written, but he had filled the letter with his love for his precious younger sister, a woman who loved him regardless of what their father said.

Thinking back on it, I might have been able to fight for Gilbert's attendance. Judge Baker had respected me by this point. I had a voice of reason in his mind. And I was a man; he was more likely to listen to me over his wife and daughter. But I was a coward. As much as I cared for Gilbert, my dearest friend, I could not find my voice. I did not want Judge Baker to go back on his word, take both my wife and my position in the courtroom from me.

Maybe things might have been different if I had stood up for Gilbert. Perhaps that's merely wishful thinking. When you have all the time in the world like me, wishful thinking is frequent. Regret as well. You begin to wonder how things could have been different if you had just done this versus that. Human life in very fragile and very short; they're too afraid of making mistakes and never having the time to fix them. And sometimes, as I have learned, the mistakes are irreversible.

Marrying Jamie was definitely not a mistake though. I have never once felt any regret marrying her. Though others have told me that had I not have married her, I probably wouldn't have become a vampire. Even if that were true, I do not mind. Being a vampire has its privileges as well as its disadvantages, but I will never regret meeting Jamie. She is my everything, even now.

My vows were "until death do we part." And I have yet to die. Until then, I will never part.

 


	8. September 2, 1934

Samuel and Simone went to the church this morning. There are times I wish I could join them, but the local church doesn't have any sermons in the evening. Perhaps it may be for the best. Though I am a man of God, I was told a long time ago that vampires were not welcomed creatures. Impurities of the Lord and the only afterlife we face is not even hell; just nothingness.

I don't believe in such things, but there's still the fear that it may be true. Just the off chance that God would hate me for something I had no control over. I did not wish vampirism upon myself. I didn't even know it existed. Not until that night all those years ago.

I still remember it, quite clearly in fact. It used to give me night terrors, when I still first hated what I had become. I no longer feel this way, but before... It was much different before.

Jamie and I had been married for a little over a year and a half. Mother, who needed to be cared for better and could not return to Britain, was living with us in our small cottage just outside of town. Only a single mile away from the edge of it. It wasn't the exact cottage Jamie had envisioned, but she said that was made it so great. It wasn't a vision; it was our own little home. Our reality.

We hadn't yet had children, something that had worried me at first. Jamie wanted children, as did I, and it certainly was not like we weren't trying. But Mother and Mary Anne had both reassured me that sometimes it just takes time. Mary Anne said it had three years before she and Judge Baker had their first son. Jamie and I just had to be patient and continue trying. Not that we objected to it.

I was starting to enjoy my work at the courthouse. Judge Baker was a strict employer, but fair and honest. I didn't always agree with him, especially his undying and unwavering loyalty to Britain, but I still respected him.

There were plenty of days I wished I could explore the colonies, but I had much more pressing responsibilities. I had to take care of my precious wife and my mother. I could not and would not abandon them for a child's dream. Though I did believe that, one day, perhaps when we were older and our children were grown, Jamie and I could travel. Perhaps not far, but it still could have been an adventure.

It obviously never happened. And looking at it now, it was my fault I even ended up like this.

It was a cool March evening. I had come home from work, exhausted and ready to fall asleep at any moment. A new case had come in, this one more tiring the others. I can't remember what the case was about, but I do remember it having to do with colonists and British visitors. Judge Baker wanted to make sure that our British visitors were treated fairly and had everyone tense about making sure no damning evidence against them got out.

Jamie must have known it had been a particularly rough day somehow. After gorging myself on a wonderful meal, it turned out that she and Mother had made blueberry pie for dessert. She even made sure to cut me a bigger slice than usual and promised me that she would help me relax tonight. Not in front of Mother, of course not.

But just as I had finished eating, I realized I had left important papers on my desk back at the courthouse. Jamie told me to wait. She assured me they would be there in the morning and that I didn't need to worry about them. But something inside of me told me I needed to go back and collect those papers and bring them home where they were safe. Perhaps Judge Baker's paranoia about "dirty, disrespectful colonists" had been getting to me.

It was colder by the time I left. Without incident, I went into the courthouse and to my desk. My papers were exactly where I left them, but this time I made sure I put them in my briefcase before heading back home. It had seemed like a boring, uneventful thing. Nothing to remember, nothing to care about.

But I never made it back home that night. By the time I left the courthouse, it was starting to grow foggy. It had been difficult to navigate my way back down the road, especially with the moon so thin that night. I only made it halfway when something came up from behind. A heavy force had picked me up and thrown me. How far, I'm still not certain. But I went from a dirty road and into bushes, landing hard. I might have broken my arm.

I wasn't able to dwell on the pain. Someone was suddenly over me, ice cold hands grabbing my shirt and ripping it open. I struggled, kicking my feet and using my good arm to try to shove my assailant off of me. But he wasn't affected by it. He was panting hard, almost like an animal. He drooled on my face and for a moment, I believed he was some sort of feral beast. And then he lunged for my throat.

My vision turned white. For a moment, I didn't realize what was happening. Everything had gone numb until I felt some warm spilling down my next. The whiteness went away, but my vision didn't return. The numbness quickly receded and was replaced by a burning pain. I could not scream, only gasp out as my hand clawed into what I believe was my attacker's face. I didn't know what was happening, but I was dying.

Someone ripped the monster off of me, who screamed in fury. But instead of running, I just lied there, weak and tired and with my neck on fire. I was able to turn my head to watch my savior fight off my attacker, but my vision was blurred. I could feel the blood pouring out of my neck, though at the time, I didn't know what it was. I was just trying to remain awake because I knew. If I closed my eyes, I would never wake up.

The noises had suddenly stopped, but I could barely see at this point. My breathing had grown heavier. I couldn't even feel my legs at this point. But then someone was suddenly over me again, but they turned my head to face them. I could only see the silhouette, but it was a man with long hair.

"You're still alive."

It might have been a question more than a statement, but even now, I cannot fully remember what he said afterwards. But he must have asked me a question because I begged him. Jamie was waiting for me. I had to live, for her, for our future. I couldn't leave her. I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready to part with my happiness.

Needless to say, he granted my wish. 


	9. September 8, 1934

I'm sorry, reader. It's been so long since I last told someone about what had happened to me. I had to stop for a moment. And then I actively avoided writing again, like a child afraid of the boogieman. It's surprisingly difficult to discuss about. That night was the night everything had changed for me. Nothing has ever been the same since that encounter.

But perhaps I need to get it down on paper. Perhaps it becomes easier to talk about the more I talk about it. Even if no one believes me, I should tell what happened to more people. I need to. Perhaps for my own sanity.

I cannot remember anything after that man was above me. I had fell unconscious, or perhaps I died, I'm not entirely sure, and when I had awakened, I was lying on a lounge. And when I opened my eyes, there was a dog – a black and white cocker spaniel – standing up and panting in my face. It had frightened me and I yelped, but it wasn't fazed. It just stood there, panting happily as it watched me. It didn't seem to mind that I was in a panic, trying to figure out what had happened and where I was.

My shirt was missing, as were my shoes. I was in a small, but incredibly well-stocked study. The Three of the walls were covered in bookshelves. On fourth wall, there was a dark brown door and next to it, a lit fireplace. There were no windows and it was comfortable furnished. It was definitely the study of a wealthy man. And even though I had been attacked, I had no wounds. There wasn't any blood.

These were all warning signs, but at the time, I was just in awe that I was even alive in this unknown place. On top of all that, my only companion was a strange dog who seemed oddly fond of me. With nothing else to do, I pet its head. It nuzzled my hand affectionately. I never would have suspected a dog would have been so friendly to a stranger.

But then the door opened and it pulled away from my hand. It gave a small bark, one more of a greeting than anything else, before running to the man now standing in the doorway. I couldn't help but to stare at him. I had never seen a man so pale; he was as white as a sheet. Thin, lanky, and tall with long light blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. I had never seen a man with hair as long as his, nor so smooth and refined. It was almost like a woman's. He was dressed in what was probably simple attire, but he looked so elegant – black pants, a dark blue vest, and a white shirt.

That wasn't what drew me to him though. I could have ignored his appearance, his clothes, and his study and dog. But when he looked at me, his smooth face glowing from the light of the fire, I saw them. His eyes, bright and vibrant and a deep orange-ish gold. Almost like the color of the sun as it begins to rise. I tried to convince myself it was just because of the fire. That my eyes were simply playing tricks on me.

"You're awake."

His accent was thick. An Irishman for certain. I hadn't been expecting it, since I had never met an Irishman look as elegant as the one before me. I never actually answered him, but he moved to sit down on the huge chair across from me. His dog happily followed, moving to lay down by his feet and nuzzle up against his legs.

"And here me and Lodi worried I was hosting a corpse in my home for the past three days. It's nice to see you're finally wake though."

I had thought I had misheard him and asked to repeat himself. And when he had assured me I had been lying on his longue for the past three days, I had panicked. How could I have been out for that long? Did Jamie know I was all right? Did everyone I know believe that I was dead? I had a hundred questions, but I only had one thing in mind: I had to return to Jamie. I couldn't let her think I was dead. I wouldn't put her through the pain of being a widow.

The stranger had been amused by my panicking. He had chuckled, leaning back in his seat as he watched me. I grew more and more agitated at his amusement. I demanded to know where I was, actually afraid that I had been kidnapped. I even called him a "bog-trotter," as if that would make me seem more assertive. I only ended up amusing him more.

"That's not a polite way of speaking to your savior."

It had taken me a few moments to remember what he was talking about. The creature who had been over me, the thing who had attacked me... It all came flooding back to me in one fell swoop. Any threatening tone or assertive nature I might have had within me quickly diminished, suddenly feel small. Helpless even, almost like a child. What else could I do? This man had rescued me and even housed me. I was in no right to speak.

"You've got a name?"

"Benedict."

He thought that was funny as reached down to pet his dog, whose tail wagged furiously. "If that's not the Britain-ist name I've ever heard..."

He never finished his thought because he started laughing too hard. Eventually though, he composed him. He said his name was Liam and that I was lucky he found me when he did. I should have died and I thanked him for saving my life. He didn't say anything right away to that though. Liam merely gave me a blank stare before asking me how I felt.

I answered honestly. Despite being unconscious for so long, I felt good. Better than good. I almost felt like a new person. I was not groggy at all. I didn't feel any pain from my injury. I wasn't even the least bit hungry. But I was thirsty. Not incredibly so, but I knew I needed something to drink as soon as possible.

Liam laughed again, which of course confused me. Then he asked me if I knew what attacked me. And when I responded in the negative, he suddenly asked, "You're a Brit. You know about vampires?"

It was a strange question. I should have seen the signs, but what average man would think something more sinister from the question? Vampires were supposed to be legends, horror stories to tell children to keep them out of the dark. That was how it was supposed to be. That is how I still wish it were.

"There comes a point where legend and reality cross," he explained, leaning back in his chair. He looked much more serious than before. Even his voice had dropped an octave, becoming less and less personable. "Not everything written about us is true, but they did get a couple things right. Like our existence and our most basic needs."

"Are you suggesting vampires are real?"

"If they weren't, we wouldn't exist now, would we?"

My initial reaction was to laugh. It was incredibly forced, no humor to be found, but what else was I to do? For this man to insinuate I had become a vampire? That he was also a vampire? From any normal person's point of view, they would have rightfully thought Liam was a madman, just a terrible liar, or simply had a poor sense of humor. I had been leaning toward the latter two conclusions myself.

I told him that was a ridiculous notion. Vampires did not exist. I was not a gullible child who would willingly believe a stranger. He may have saved my life, but I would not be taken for a fool. I still had my pride. My foolish pride that told me I knew better than this man.

He wasn't even phased by my response. Liam merely gave a small shrug before asking me what did I think attacked me last night.

"An animal. Some wild beast and nothing more."

He didn't disagree, but he clarified, "A vampire gone savage."

I wanted to start screaming. I was done listening to this crazed Irishman's lies. The only thing I wanted to do now was go back home to Jamie. Return to her side and let her know that I was alive, that I was all right. She had to have been terrified with my disappearance and this man was keeping me from her side.

So I shouted at him to stop. I banged my curled up on the side table near the longue. It promptly shattered underneath it, easily breaking under the strength of my hand. Poor Lodi had jumped, frightened and cowering behind Liam's chair. And Liam didn't even seem phased. If anything, he had been more annoyed with the fact that I had broken his table and had frightened his poor dog.

But I was too wrapped in my own shock to really think about Liam or the dog. I was still trying to understand what had happened. I didn't want to believe I had just done that. I shouldn't have been able to do that. Unless the table had been made of sand, my curled fist shouldn't have been able to do that to at all.

Liam calmed Lodi down, petting his back and gently coaxing him to sit down. I was still too in shock to see that he had moved from his chair and grabbed a small hand mirror resting on the fireplace mantle. He said nothing as he handed it to me. And when I took it to see my face, my appearance frightened me and I let go.

I quickly learned that it was a myth that vampires have no reflections. But I also learned in that moment that my eyes were no longer blue. They were the same color as his. A deep orange-gold.

He must have known I wouldn't be able to say another word to him, so he began to talk. About vampires. About what we were. What we could do. What we couldn't do. I didn't argue with him. I was honestly too frightened to try. If I could break a table with just my fist alone, what could Liam do to me if I angered him enough?

"You're a vampire now," he said, completely nonchalant and acting as if he wasn't turning my entire world upside down. "Just like me. And now that you're one of us, you've got to prepare yourself. Life's gonna be very different for you now."

And different it is indeed... I have to consume human blood to survive. Animal blood has no nutritional value, so there's no point in trying to eat it instead. I have the speed to outrun the fastest animals. I possess the strength to lift a marble statue over my head without ever needing to sweat. Mainly because I'm unable to sweat. I don't need to breathe either. I have no heartbeat and my skin is cold. I am practically dead, through and through.

Other thing I learned to be a myth: vampires are not the sexual and chaotic creatures we were written to be. When I brought that up, I had never heard Liam laugh as hard as he did. Male vampires are completely incapable of having sex (at least with our own anatomy); we simply cannot get an erection. Female vampires can still have penetrative sex, but many have admitted that it isn't quite as pleasurable as it was when they were humans.

I do wonder where the idea of sexual vampires even came from. Liam believes it was just some idiot wanting to scare women into not being sexual. If they fear a vampire might come to get them, they would most likely sexually repress themselves out of fear. I'm not sure how much of that is true, but perhaps he has a point.

Chaotic isn't a good adjective for us either. I was surprised to find how unified we were as a species. No one is certain the origins of vampires, but we are a small group compared to the number of humans. We may have no strict government, but we do have small councils based in every country. They simply keep humans unaware of our existence, make sure we are all cared for, and take care of the Rogues that get out of hand.

"What attacked you was what we call a Rogue," Liam had explained to me when I asked him about these Rogues. "You see, Benny (he prefers to call me 'Benny,' he believes my full name is much too long), we're always thirsty. We always a drink. And those who let that need consume them... Well, they go mad. And when they go mad, they become Rogues. They're just wild animals who only focus on eating, so they attack humans, like you when you were walking home. He would have drained you dry if I didn't saved you."

"Saved me?" A new rage of anger had swirled up inside of me. At the time, I didn't view him as my savior. I had become a monster. A disgusting demon casted out by God and meant to suffer on this Earth until the day He took mercy on me and made me burn. "You cursed me! I'm dead! I cannot be with Jamie because of you!"

"You sure do love your wife, don't you?"

"Do not change the subject!" I was only growing more and more agitated by this point. My entire world was shattered at this point. As far as I was concerned, my life was over. I couldn't be with Jamie like this. She would surely reject a monster for a husband. "You ruined me! You should have left me! Why did you save me?!"

Liam just shrugged. He said he had asked me if I wanted to live, so he saved me. The only reason why I didn't attack him was because he didn't want to have to kill me. It was his home after all; he wouldn't allow himself to be murdered in it. He was probably half-joking, but I never really asked.

Then he moved away from me to grab a book on one of the bookshelves closest to us. He didn't hand it to me, but merely laid it down beside my seat. It was a small, simple blue one simply titled "The Basics." No author and penname to be found anywhere. The book was relatively thin, almost like a pamphlet if anything. And it was a guide to how to control themselves as a newborn vampire.

Along with the book, he handed me a cup filled with blood. To clench the thirst I was no doubt feeling after just waking up. I did not drink it.


	10. September 11, 1934

I have only ever told one other person about that night. I must be really lonely to be writing this down, hoping that someone, somewhere will be reading it. I wonder what other vampires will think of me if they knew this. After all, we’re supposed to be a secret. For our own safety. Humans are very cowardly and will try to kill anything they perceive as a threat to the norm. Surely you’ve read about the Salem Witch Trials? Imagine what humans would try to do to us. Fire can hurt us too. As does silver. More than a simple wooden stake would.

I was angry with Liam for a little while, but I dare not go home initially. Not when I believed I would not be welcomed back to my home. I didn’t want to return only for Mother and Jamie to reject me. I don’t think I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself.

Thankfully, Liam had sent one of his servants (he had several humans living with him, all of who knew he was a vampire and even gave him their blood in exchange for a place to stay) send my wife a letter. He promised me he would not tell her of my condition, but he did explain that due to circumstances, I would not be able to return for a long while.

So I stayed at his home, moving into a room connected to the library. Like the library, there were no windows and no way for natural light to enter the room. I held myself up in there for at least three days, possibly more. The only reason I had come out was due to unquenchable thirst. And there on the table were cups of blood waiting for me. It sickened me to drink them, but they soothed my throat. They easily quenched my thirst.

It was a hard truth to accept. I did not want to be a monster. I didn’t want to drink blood, I wanted to pretend I was still human. But after three days had passed of me not needing to use the restroom or feel tired or normal hunger confirmed it. I wasn’t a human anymore. I had to drink the blood. If I didn’t, I would become a Rogue. And who was to say I wouldn’t attack my family or my friends? Or heaven forbid, Jamie. I would rather kill myself than ever lay a hand on her.

After my anger subsided, Liam brought me outside one night. He asked me how I was doing, but I didn’t answer. He didn’t seem to mind though, instead choosing to explain to me how things were going to go for a little while. He promised me that, because he was my creator, he would help me control myself and teach me about the ways of living as a vampire in a human world. If I didn’t want to learn, I could leave.

I did think about it. When vampires are made, they aren’t bound to the people who created them. Liam wouldn’t have been able to stop me if I had just turned my back to him and headed on home. But I had no place to go. I couldn’t pretend that things were the same anymore. I had to learn, not just for my sake, but for the people I cared about. I told myself if I could learn to control myself better, then I would be able to see Jamie again sooner. I could explain everything more rationally to her and perhaps she would accept me. Maybe even help me explain all of this to Mother as well, I never had a solid plan for the afterward.

So for her sake, I asked him to teach me what he knew. It was simple at first; he taught me the best ways to feed from humans without causing any damage. With the neck did provide the best source of a steady blood flow, it is better to bite the arm or the shoulder. It won’t hurt the human as much nor will it cause them to bleed out, so long as the wound isn’t too deep. And attacking a human isn’t necessary either; we either find a willing partner for the right price or non-Rogue vampires can use our hypnosis powers to put potential food sources into a trance. It keeps them from feeling any pain and they don’t even remember being bitten.

I personally prefer finding a willing partner. The idea of hypnosis bothers me; it’s still a nonconsensual attack, even if they don’t feel any pain. Finding a partner may be a little harder, but it’s just a matter of looking around. Truthfully, some people will do anything for the right amount of money or other goods. As things are now, almost anyone will allow me to feed from them if it means they can have some money, food, or even just a place to stay for a night or two. Desperate times call for desperate measures, I suppose.

Once I learned how to feed, he taught me how to control my strength. Of course, it didn’t start out all that well. Sometimes it felt as if the lightest punch would shatter a wall. But slowly and surely, I got more control over myself and my strength. Liam was thankful for that; he had been worried I would break all of his furniture.

I learned how to hunt. I learned how to meditate. He taught me how to control my speed, to keep myself calm, to fight. Liam is a surprisingly fatherly man. He mentioned having a daughter when he was human and how he loved to spoil her. Perhaps his fatherly ways had carried over when he was turned. I’m still unsure of what the reason might have been. Liam never likes to discuss himself much.

I do miss Liam from time to time. I haven’t heard from him in nearly seventy years. I can safely say that he’s probably still wandering around Europe with Olivia. Around the early 1800s, he had turned a young slave, probably no older than fourteen, into a vampire after nearly being beaten to death by her owners. From what I remember of her, she was a nice girl, very pretty and very polite. And Liam loved her dearly, caring for her as his own. He says she reminds him of his own daughter before he had been turned.

I hope I will be able to see him again. Though I initially harbored negatively feelings towards him, they had eventually come to past. If it wasn’t for Liam, I doubt I would have survived. I would have become a Rogue and been killed after hurting who knew how many innocent people. I am forever in his debt.  


	11. September 14, 1934

A young man came to my home last night. He calls himself Andrew and he claimed that he knows I am a “bloodsucker.” What a horrid word, really. I would have turned him away until he demanded that I turn him into “one of me.” When I inquired as to why, he said he wanted to be strong and powerful. Because that was the only way to get by in this world.

I have not turned him. At least not yet. For the time being, I have allowed him to stay in one of the guest rooms on the opposite side of the house. Samuel and Simone made it quite clear that they do not like this stranger and want him gone. Admittedly, I only decided to keep him here to see if I can find out more about his reasoning. Perhaps there’s more to him. Or he really could just be an egotistical bastard.

I have never turned anyone before and I’m not eager to do so either. Especially not a man like this Andrew character. He is far too susceptible to becoming a Rogue. Brash and eager to be strong, not fully comprehending the limitations of being a vampire. He only sees me as a big powerful monster who strikes fear into humans, something he wishes to do as well.

I have no doubt changing him would lead him down the wrong path. And the vampire community does not take kindly to us turning humans just because. There are no laws forbidding us from turning humans, but it’s simply best to think about the consequences before creating yet another vampire. No one wants to be the creator of a Rogue; they would be blamed for “failing to teach their pupil properly.” I have seen it before.

Andrew will no doubt go mad from the power or from the constant need to quench his thirst. I will not risk the safety of other humans or potentially other vampires due to an ego trip of one foolish man.

Besides, Simone already begged me not to turn him. She doesn’t like him. She says he’s dangerous; she catches him looking at her and it frightens her. She wants me to throw him out. And I most likely will; I shared a few words with him before returning to my study and they did not comfort me.

His parents had killed themselves when the stocks fell, leaving him to survive with a group of his friends. They had petty thieves for the most part, only good at stealing and mugging, having no real skills to even apply for work. But when he became an adult, he tried to get into the workforce only for everyone to turn him away simply because there were no jobs. Though he believes they just didn’t want to hire him.

He found out about me through one of my past feeding partners, an older woman named Katherine. She’s a kind woman in her fifties who ran a boarding home just a few miles from me. She agreed to feed me and keep things a secret when I promised I would help fund her home. And Katherine is not one to break a promise with me. I have a feeling that he had threatened her and she only gave me away to save herself.

I will give him one day to prove himself to me. Just one. I don’t exactly have any high hopes though. He’s too bitter with the world and is incredibly narrow-minded as to what it means to be a vampire. He wasn’t even interested in listening when I attempted to explain what being a vampire truly entailed. He’s only focused on one thing: power.

I don’t exactly understand why he believes vampires to be such powerful beings. Yes, we did have connections and all of us generally live comfortable lifestyles, myself included. But we have no authority over humans. We cannot dictate their ways of life; we can only try to keep them out of ours. If people knew about us on a global scale, we would be hunted down much more systematically. We already have to deal with vigilante vampire hunters; we do not need governments after us.

Perhaps he just read too many books when he was younger and believed all those false tales. That’s how it is for most humans: they read _Dracula_ once and suddenly, they become experts on vampirism.

There is no use dwelling on that for now. I have to tend to other things for the time being. I will find out exactly what had happened for Katherine to give up my identity. I’m certainly not angry with her, but I need to know why. And just how much of Andrew is a threat to not only myself, but to the people around me? If he proves to be too dangerous, I will deal with him personally.

This world is already cruel enough. We don’t need more people like Andrew.


	12. September 16, 1934

I murdered Andrew a few hours ago. I buried him on the opposite side of town. Hopefully no one will miss him or ever find him. He really was an awful man.

I could lie and say it was an accident. Partially, it was, but another part of me truly does not mind knowing that his death was by my hand. I should have had anticipated something like this. After all, I had found out that Andrew had indeed threatened to assault Katherine unless she handed over her money. And she had given away my identity instead, hoping he would be more enticed by my power than her money. She had certainly been correct on that assumption. I have to give her credit for thinking so cleverly.

I had been mediating when Samuel suddenly came into my study. Simone had left earlier that evening and Samuel couldn’t find Andrew anywhere in the house. He was convinced that man had followed Simone and was doing the Lord only knew what.

So I quickly left to find them, having Samuel wait at the house. It had occurred to me that it might have just have been a coincidence, but Simone was afraid of him. She had begged me last night and the night before to get rid of him. I didn’t listen though. And because of me, she had been hurt.

I had tracked them only a few miles down the road. He had dragged her behind an abandoned home. Every racial slur he could think of poured of mouth as he held a knife to her neck. She was shaking, crying. I don’t have to be a genius to figure out what he was attempting to do and I don’t want to even think about what he might have done had Samuel not come and gotten me.

I have killed before, but they had been Rogues. I have never killed a human before tonight. Admittedly, killing a human is easy, much easier than killing a Rogue. When I ripped him off of poor Simone, I threw him through a wall. He broke a few bones, crying in agony. It had been too quick for Simone and probably Andrew to comprehend, but I went back to him. I held him up by the throat. And I had snapped his neck, easily twisted his head backwards.

I made sure Simone didn’t see the body. But she probably wouldn’t have noticed it anyway. She was too busy holding herself and sobbing. She called for Samuel, like a lost little child. I couldn’t even bring myself to apologize, even if this was all my fault. Had I never brought Andrew into the house, she wouldn’t have had this happen to her. I could only bring her home and tell her to rest.

Samuel did not say anything to me when I brought Simone back. Either he was too angry with me or too focused on his sister. Perhaps both. And he has every right. If I had only listened to Simone sooner or if I had just realized that Andrew was a lost cause, I might have saved everyone grief.

I haven’t tried to speak with him about this. It’s too soon. Once I left Simone in his care, I returned to Andrew’s body. I brought him to a woodsy area, far from my home and from anyone who might be looking for him. It only took a short while to dig him a grave. I didn’t even bother laying him down in it; I merely kicked the corpse into the hole before burying it under six feet of dirt.

When I returned, it appeared Simone didn’t need any medical attention. He had not harmed her physically. Mentally, I can only imagine. I will have to send word to some of my friends within the medical word. Perhaps they could guide me to a professional she could speak to. I was willing to pay whatever it took to help Simone overcome anything that might have come from this.

I cannot rewrite the past. All I can do now is ask for their forgiveness and do whatever I can to make up for the pain I might have caused them due to my hesitation. I do not expect them to forgive me for a while, but I’m fine with that. Perhaps I should have killed Andrew the moment he set foot in my home.

I cannot let this happen again. I won’t let it. 


	13. September 23, 1934

Samuel and Simone have both forgiven me. I don’t believe Samuel has forgiven me completely, but I am no longer suffering the silent treatment from him. It is more than I could ask for. I told him if he ever needed anything from me, anything at all, he only had to ask. He will probably never take me up on the offer, but he did give me his thanks. For now anyway.

As for Simone, her forgiveness was full hearted. Apparently, she never blamed me in the first place. I didn’t know Andrew would attempt anything like that, so she could not blame me. And she knew I cared for her and her younger brother deeply and that I would never initially put her in harm’s way. After all, I had promised their mother I would protect them so long as they lived in my home.

Regardless of her forgiveness, I still apologized. I was the one who allowed that man to stay in the first place. I didn’t listen to her warnings about him. Had I just kicked him out the first time, she wouldn’t have been hurt. Andrew had nothing over me. It wasn’t as if he could “expose” my identity to anyone; who would believe him? If anything, they would call him a maniac and send him to an asylum, if not just kill him themselves.

I promised her if any future guests made her feel uncomfortable, I would kick them out immediately. I will not allow her to feel threatened when she was the one who lived in this house. Even though she didn’t see it, I could tell she appreciated the gesture.

“Did you kill him?” she asked.

I should have figured she didn’t see it happen. She had either been too frightened or too far away to see his incredibly quick death. Perhaps both? Humans don’t have as good as eyesight as vampires do, especially not in the dark. And she had been in hysterics once she realized Andrew was no longer on top of her.

I asked her if it bothered her if I did. When she didn’t answer for the longest time, I was worried she would think me monstrous. Even though I have killed before, I do not openly share this fact with humans typically. Humans aren’t exactly comfortable with the idea of having a murderer as a roommate.

Admittedly, I wasn’t expecting her to smile. Nor was I expecting her to thank me for doing so. When I inquired, she only said that Andrew was a bad man. If he didn’t hurt her, he would have hurt someone else. And she’s certain that a man like him has hurt plenty of people already. I’m inclined to believe the same as well.

People like Andrew will always exist, unfortunately. Not just humans; I knew of a few vampires who shared similar qualities with that man. Power hungry and cruel, only thinking about themselves and their own needs. He was simply just a more extreme case, so to speak. And when it came to those extreme cases, it was best to deal with the issue directly. And perhaps even lethally if it means a better life for other people.

At least that’s how I prefer to look at things. The world would be so much easier if people such as Andrew didn’t exist. Less people would be afraid or worse, hurt. Not everyone can be like me. I carry a privilege, one I know many envy. I do not have to worry about people like Andrew. Samuel and Simone do.

But as great as this privilege can be, it is still a burden at times. I will not bring Samuel or Simone into this life. Their mother had begged me on her death bed to never turn them. She knew that Samuel has wished for it and Simone herself was always curious and she did not want them to be turned. She knew I was lonely. She knew this was as much as a privilege as it was a curse.

I will never disrespect Amelia’s wishes. I will not bring them into this life. It’s just better for everyone. 


	14. October 2, 1934

Simone found my journal today when she helped Samuel clean the house. She had gone into my office to help clean up. I told her to leave my study as my responsibility, but she knows I hate when it’s messy. Unfortunately, I tend to put off on the chores. She’s incredibly sweet; she had tidying up the entire room, organizing my papers on the desk. Then she had accidentally knocked over my journal before peeking inside, believing it to be a book from the shelves.

She apologized for “invading my privacy,” but I assured her that there was no need for apologies. It’s my fault for leaving it out in the open in the first place. Besides, I know she isn’t a busybody. She had never invaded my privacy before.

But she did ask about Jamie. She only read the first few pages and thought Jamie was a wonderful woman. She said she could tell that my wife “had really made me happy.” That’s only an understatement, she completed me. But I agreed with Simone nonetheless. Jamie, even now, is my everything. She’s my soulmate.

I didn’t know that when I had first married. I honestly had never believed in the idea of a soulmate until I had spoken to Liam about it.

I thought it was blasphemous at first, but when we die, we are reincarnated. Liam has never discredited the existence of God, but whether he exists or not, when we die, we do not ascend into heaven for long. We are simply born again as different people, but with the same soul. And our souls are always seeking are other halves.

It doesn’t always mean romantic either, despite what popular fiction likes to say. A soulmate is simply a person that completes you, makes you feel whole and at peace with the world. It would be a complete stranger or a friend or a lover or perhaps even a family member, it really on depends on the circumstances. Some people never find their soulmates in their lifetime; humans only feel the connection when they meet face to face. But vampires have the special ability to find our soulmates.

Liam calls it “the Pull.” When our soulmate is alive, our chest tightens. We feel a tug in our chests every now and then, as if a rope has been tied around it and is being yanked on. The closer we are, the stronger the tug. And when we finally meet our soulmate, we almost feel human.

That was how Jamie had made me feel. Even though at first I thought she would abandon me out of fear for being a vampire, she did not. It took her time getting used to this new me, but she still loved me. She still came to see me, even if she did still have fear.

I don’t think she ever truly got over the idea though. She never remarried, she still kissed me, still hugged me, but she did not want to become a vampire. I had offered to turn her, so that we could be together forever. We could be happy and I would be there for her every step of the way. She would have nothing to fear.

But she said no. She couldn’t do it. Even if she loved me, she was too afraid. I tried to convince, oh how desperately I tried for years and years. But she died without me on July 27, 1737 and I have never cried harder.

She has been reborn twice now and I have met her both times. The first time she had been reborn, she had been a slave named Abby. The second time, she had been an immigrant from Ireland named Ciara. And every time, I tried to convince her to become a vampire and each time, she said no. Seeing your soulmate die three times is painful and it never gets any easier.

I can feel the tug right now, but it is weak. So weak that I wouldn’t even know where to start looking for her. And truthfully, I am afraid. I do not want to meet her and be with her, only to be told no again. I do not think I can bear to watch her die again. Perhaps I’m simply just too weak. 


	15. October 3, 1934

Simone asked more about Jamie tonight, but I wasn’t able to answer. Remembering losing her last night has taken a bit of energy from me. I love Jamie, but remembering her is sometimes painful.

I not only carry the memories of when she was Jamie, but also when she was Abby and Ciara. And while I have never once regretted being with her each time, it isn’t like I’ve never had a bad memory with any of them. There will always be painful times with Jamie, no matter who she is or what new name she is born with. I will always love her, that will never change.

But sometimes I wish. I wish every day that she had let me turn her when she was still Jamie, when she was still my wife. Then she would still have the memories of being married to me, of knowing me when I was human. Abby and Ciara never had those. They only knew me as a vampire. One that they had been afraid of at first, believing those old stories about vampires being nothing more than sexual blood-thirsty monsters.

I still remember the first time I had met Abby. It was October, 1798. The colonies had become America, we were an independent and united nation, and John Adams was President. Liam and I had moved to South Carolina, deep into the countryside. He thought it was better that I was away from Massachusetts. Jamie’s death had still tormented me, though I was better than I had been. After she had died, I was, to put it simply, a mess.

Multiple times I had thought of simply ending my life. I never acted upon it, but the thoughts and the grave depression and unwillingness to do anything was always there. The only thing that kept me going was the hope I would meet her again. That I would find her, reborn, and perhaps we could finally be together again.

So when I started to feel the Pull in 1775, I became excited. And afraid. Where the Pull trying to take me? It wasn’t as weak as the one I have now, but I wouldn’t have called it strong either. I didn’t know where to begin looking and I was still too afraid to venture off alone without Liam. But when we moved to Virginia, I had felt the Pull grow stronger. I grew even more anxious. I wanted to know so badly who had she been reborn as. Where I could find her. I just wanted to see who she had become.

And one night, I had been outside for fresh air. The Pull had suddenly grown stronger and I found myself practically rushing forward. It didn’t occur to me to think why she would be out in the woods so late at night; I was only focused on myself, as selfish as that was.

Then I found her. A young beautiful black woman with tattered clothes, she looked nothing like Jamie, but I knew. But she was huddled up in a small burrow with two small children, a young boy named Elijah and a young girl named Ruth, holding them close to her as they did everything they could be quiet and still. They didn’t scream when they saw me, but the fear was apparent in their eyes.

I asked if they were all right. They didn’t answer. I asked if they could understand me, believing perhaps they had just been brought here. They still didn’t answer me. Perhaps they were too afraid to let out their voices, in case anyone who was actually hunting them came across them hiding here. Runaway slaves weren’t uncommon, but it was always a dangerous risk. Getting caught could have been a death sentence.

So then I asked if they wanted a place to hide. I assured them I had food and shelter. No harm would come to them. They would be safe; I swore it on my pride as man, knowing I could not swear it to God.

Maybe they were tired of running. Perhaps Abby had felt it in her chest too. But she slowing came out of the burrow, holding the children close to her as they gripped her skirt tightly. It took an hour to return home, but we eventually made it. And as promised, I had the servants provide them some food and had one of the larger guest rooms prepared for them. They would have felt uncomfortable if they had been forced to sleep apart.

Elijah and Ruth had been more relaxed once they entered the home. Perhaps they were eager to eat real food and be somewhere warm, I couldn’t have been sure. Abby was still hesitant, still afraid and weary of my intentions. How could I blame her? She was a slave. White people such as myself had probably only ever abused her. She was waiting for me change my face and hurt her. Probably even kill her.

Liam had been surprised when I brought the three of them home. The children had initially been curious about him; they had never seen a man with hair as long as his before. And he loved children and they loved him, so it only took a few words for them to be comfortable. When he remembered that he had some old toys somewhere, he told them to follow him and they happily agreed.

Abby had tried to stop them at first. I had to assure her Liam was a good man; he loved children and no hard would come to them. She didn’t believe me, but she didn’t argue with me. Unfortunately, it was out of fear more than anything. And there was nothing I could have done to assure her I meant no ill will. She had no reason to trust me, even if she did feel the calming that came with meeting your soulmate.

I was to gain her trust and I had been nowhere close to earning it.

So I started with the basics. I introduced myself, leaving out the part of Liam and I being vampires. I asked her if she had run away recently.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Please, you don’t need to call me sir.”

She didn’t respond. So I asked where had she come from.

“Mister Albert’s, sir.”

It took me a moment to realize who she had been speaking about. In Virginia, there had been a plantation owner named Albert Connors. He was hailed a respectable businessman and a family man, someone men looked up to and women wanted to be in the company of. Well, white men and women did anyway.

He was a terror to the slaves. Liam had bought one of our servants, Harriet, from that man when she had grown too old for field work. When he wasn’t beating the men and boys out in the fields, he was assaulting the women and forcing them to “service” him whenever his wife wasn’t around. He was a dirty monster, as far as Liam and I were concerned.

Abby never talked much about her time with Connors, but I could put two and two together. She worked in the house and she never had a husband or even a lover. Elijah was her son, but Ruth wasn’t. She was the daughter of a friend who had been beaten to death by Connors for refusing his advances one too many times. And she had promised her friend that she would be able to save Ruth from a terrible fate.

I asked where she was running away too. She didn’t know. It wasn’t a brilliant idea, but I suppose that death at the hands of nature is a better way to die than at the hands of an abusive slaver who only saw you as property.

They stayed with us for a few days. Liam really liked the children and they seemed to get along with him as well. Elijah and Ruth were incredibly well behaved as well; the older servants really enjoyed their presence, saying they “brightened up the home.”

Abby was suspicious as to why she didn’t see Liam and I around during the day, but luckily, the other servants in the house were able to distract her from this fact for the most part. And as time passed, she became more and more relaxed. Even comfortable, I dare say.

So one day, I asked if she would mind if I bought her and the children. She had almost panicked until I explained myself. Unfortunately, I could not keep her here freely; if anyone saw her and the children here, we would both be in trouble. She would be brought back to Connors’s plantation and I would be branded a thief and would have no choice but to leave.

I was not asking for anything. I was not expecting her to do anything she didn’t want to do. I was going to buy them for her safety and then I would free them. No questions asked, nothing to be read in between the lines. They would be free and they wouldn’t have to worry about being hurt by Connors or anyone else again.

She didn’t want to believe me. She thought I was tricking her. “Good things like this don’t just happen,” she said. “Somebody always want something. White folks like you always want something. What do you want?”

It hurt to be accused like that, but it was to be expected. Abby didn’t know me and she had mostly avoided Liam and I when we were around. So even though we had done nothing against her, that wasn’t enough proof. It would have never been enough proof. But I asked her to believe me. I promised her that she and her children would be cared for as long as they stayed here. None of them would be hurt or abused or forced to do anything they did not want to do. They would be guests, not slaves, in our house. I swore again on my pride.

It seemed like a miracle, but Abby finally agreed. I knew if I betrayed her though, she would have tried to murder mer. She never said it, but there was that cold look in her dark brown eyes. A look that showed that she would fight to the bitter end to keep herself and the children from being abused. She was determined; just like Jamie.

Liam used one of his contacts to send someone down to Connors’ plantation. They informed the bastard that we currently had his three slaves with us (without revealing our exact location, of course) and were “incredibly eager” to buy them from him. At first, he refused, but all men have a price. His just happened to be on the higher side. And as promised, I bought them before quickly freeing them.

Abby wanted to leave, but Elijah and Ruth wanted to stay. They liked “Uncle Liam” and were tired of traveling. It was only because of them that Abby stayed. I am forever grateful for a child’s stubbornness. 


	16. October 6, 1934

It seems that I do indeed have a single reader of this thing. Something to pass the time and get my thoughts out has now become a someone else’s pass time. The other night, after I returned from meeting one of my feeding partners, Simone admitted she was curious. She wanted to read more of my journal.

Not because she is a nosy girl, oh no. Simone has never been anything like that. She just wanted to know more about Jamie. And myself. Which is to be expected. I do not talk much about myself. Despite how many years I have been alive, I think I’m rather boring. I have no dynamic personality, I am not jubilant and jovial like Liam. I do not put myself out there like others; I never learned how.

And as a vampire, it’s simply better to keep things to yourself. There is a lot humans shouldn’t know about vampires. Not for their safety, but for their own peace of mind and comfort. Simone, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry. There are just some things that are best not discussed. I will do my best not to frighten you too much.

Since you asked about Jamie, I will tell you about Abby instead.

A lovely girl, as well as her two children. Elijah may have been her actual son, but she treated Ruth as if she were her own. She was very motherly, strict but fair. And the children were very polite and well-mannered. Ruth loved to sew and sing and Elijah loved to read and ride horses.

Abby did not live in the house as a freeloader. When she decided that she and her children would stay here, she asked if she could work as a servant. The only thing she asked in terms of payment was allowing her and the children to have a room, have food, and a meager pay. I gave her the same pay as we did the other servants, much more than she had asked for and told her that as long as she and the children stayed, they would have a room and food.

Abby was very much different from Jamie. She was not as giggly or friendly, preferring to keep to herself. But she was also so much like her. She had the kindest smile and the sweetest laugh. Abby was her own person and I loved her. Not in the way I loved Jamie, but she made me feel at ease with my life. I wanted to protect her and care for her, just as she cared for her Elijah and Ruth.

I had kept my vampirism a secret at first, wanting to find the right time to tell her and not make her think that we were going to turn her and her children into a meal. But she knew that something was different about us. She knew we were cold, she had never seen us eat, and our skin and eyes were far too different from a normal white person’s.

Despite her circumstances, she was very brave. One night, she came to me in my study while I had been writing to an old friend for a favor I can’t remember. She didn’t say anything at first, only coming in to watch me quietly. I pretended not to notice.

Then she asked, in a apprehensive and tight but determined voice, “Just what are you, Mister Wright?”

It caught me off guard. I could only look at her, only to see her staring back at me with determination and fear on her face. I had no idea how to even begin to answer her. Both Liam and I had kept our true identities a secret. We never fed around her and we made sure we didn’t do anything suspicious.

And yet, Abby knew. She could not be fooled and she wouldn’t allow herself to be fooled either. The thought to lie to her did occur to me, but I wanted her to trust me. I didn’t want her to believe that she or her children were in danger. So I sat her down at the chair across from me, just like Liam had did when he told me about my new found life.

I asked her to be patient. I asked her to not think I was making fun of her. And I asked her not to be afraid.

“Mister Wright, with all due respect, you’re already scaring me.”

I apologized. But instead of simply telling her what was I, I showed her. Like a cat with its claws, a vampire can retract his fangs and hide them. The older the vampire, the sharper and longer they are. So I opened my mouth to show her my teeth, bringing out my fangs in a simple act of will.

She nearly screamed, jumping away from me and out of her chair. She had even grabbed a book and hurled it out my head. I’m certain she threw several more after that, but I just kept up my arms as I tried to calm her down. I did not use my strength against her, not wanting her to panic more than she already was. She kept yelling that I was a demon, a blood-thirsty demon as she threw book after book at my head.

It took her several minutes for her to calm down. She was still shaking, but she noted that I had not attacked her and had made no move to hurt her in any way. Once I was sure she had settled down, I gestured for her to sit back down. She didn’t sit down, but I understood. Retracting my fangs and fixing up my clothes, I sat back down and told her what I was.

She didn’t interrupt me, but I could tell she was watching my every movement. Her eyes darted around the room, no doubt looking for something she could use a weapon to protect herself with. I wanted to reassure her I meant no harm, but even after a month of living with me, she still didn’t want to trust me. So I told her everything about being a vampire, including how we could not have penetrative sex and what could hurt or even kill us.

She seemed much calmer after I let her know how she could kill me and Liam, as uncomfortable as that initially made me. But I knew it wasn’t for herself. Her children thought of Liam as a father-like figure; she was probably only worried about what we might do to two defenseless children if they weren’t careful. Not that we ever would.

Non-Rogue vampires have a common rule and that is we do not feed from children. They are too young and cannot give full consent to the idea of being made into a meal. They don’t understand what we truly mean by “feeding.” An adult could understand it if explained. A child could not and even if they did say yes, there is no way to say whether or not they were manipulated from it.

I have only heard of two cases of vampires feeding from children, but they had been under incredibly special circumstances; it had been a life versus death situation for a vampire. If he hadn’t fed from a young boy who had offered, he would have become a Rogue. But even then, others did not condone the actions of the vampire.

I assured her that her children were safe. Liam is a fatherly man and his affections for the children bared no ill will. He just enjoyed being around them and making sure they felt comfortable in a new home filled adults. Abby did thank him for that.

Back at Connors’ plantation, they had worked in the fields just like all the other children. And after her friend had been murdered, she was worried that Connors would sell Ruth and Elijah. Connors never had been a fan of children. He didn’t want it to be known he fathered slaves either. And she didn’t want them to grow up and think that there was no such thing as kindness or love. She said it was too late for her, but not for the children.

It saddened me to think she had been hurt so many times that she felt that way, but there was nothing that could have been done at that moment. I could only hope to open her and attempt her to see the good things. It all depended on whether or not she wanted to look at them.


	17. October 10, 1934

Samuel and Simone are arguing downstairs. I have them tuned out for the most part, but Simone did have a strong voice that carried. And with my amplified hearing, it’s hard to pretend I have no idea what they’re talking about.

Samuel’s worried about her. Apparently, her schoolhouse has been facing threatens from white people who didn’t like colored children in their area. Which is a strange thing to say. Simone’s schoolhouse was nowhere near the white schools. They were “separate” just like they wanted. What more could they possibly want?

Simone isn’t going to close the school though. “Colored children deserve just as much education as the white folks!” she had shouted.

How true that is. Her determination is beyond admirable. Miss DuPont would have liked her. I wonder if Simone is a reincarnation of her. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were the case.

Miss Juliette DuPont had been a wonderful French white woman. Liam had found her in order to provide a teacher for Elijah and Ruth. Abby had wanted them to have a proper education and Liam was more than happy to find someone for them. And with all of his connection, it didn’t take long for him to find Miss DuPont.

Abby had been apprehensive about having a white woman teach her colored children. The woman was older and a widow, who did not take kindly to laziness or crude behavior. It did not help that Miss DuPont had an air around her that always commanded respect. Abby was afraid that she would beat her children if they did something she didn’t like. Or be overly cruel to them because of their skin.

Miss DuPont was rather progressive for her time. Liam jokes that she was born in “the wrong era” and I half believe it myself. She was more than an abolitionist; she saw colored people as her equal. And she loved women dearly, even though more than she could ever love a man.

As a human, I would have thought it was blasphemous, but she had been good people, just like Gilbert had been. Besides, it isn’t uncommon for vampires to have lovers or soulmates of the same sex. Why would humans be any different?

Miss DuPont was a good teacher though. Abby had watched over them for a few sessions. Though Miss DuPont raised her voice, she did not once raise a hand against either child. So once she realized that she was a good woman and her children were safe, Abby grew comfortable around her.

And Miss DuPont was fond of her too. She didn’t think a mother as young as Abby, who had only been twenty-three after becoming a mother when she had been sixteen, would be able to care and love as much as she did. She offered to teach Abby how to reach and write, but Abby avoided the question. She insisted that Miss DuPont just focus on Elijah and Ruth.

I think Abby was ashamed. She was illiterate, so most slaves were, but she didn’t want to be like that. She had dreams, she used to say. She wanted to be a teacher. Teach colored children around this country that they were more than just slaves. That they could be someone. That white people were liars, that when they said they were worth nothing, they were insecure. They were scared of them and the power they actually had.

She could have been a preacher. But not only was she black, she was a woman. And back then, no one would ever listen to a black woman seriously. People like Miss DuPont were like rare birds; most didn’t care.

But even if Abby never got her educated, Elijah and Ruth had gotten theirs. Elijah turned out to be an incredibly intelligent boy. He was smitten with Leonardo da Vinci and his inventions. He was also fond of Shakespeare and proclaimed when he was eleven he wanted to write plays. Abby tried to dissuade him, but Miss DuPont told her it was possible. Playwrights didn’t have to be seen in public compared to the actors; they would just need a puppet to represent the boy and he could write all the plays he wanted.

Ruth didn’t take much to books and reading though. She was much more fascinating with performance. And when Miss DuPont told her about ballet, having been a ballerina herself, Ruth fell in love. Dancing was her passion, not just a hobby like the other women. She lived it. She breathed it. And Miss DuPont was thrilled to teach her everything she knew about ballet. I do not know much about ballet or dancing, but Ruth was a beautiful dancer. She moved to the music brilliant, made it her own.

Abby tried to discourage her, just like she tried to discourage Elijah. It wasn’t like she didn’t want them to follow her dreams; she just wanted to protect them from the harsh reality of a white world. Not only would they be shushed, but they would have been hurt. White people never took kindly to those who deviated from the norm nor did they think colored people were on the same level as them.

In 1798, they were only meant to be slaves. And today, they were only meant to be second-class citizens at best. Dead at worst. Knowing people like the KKK are around and even quite proud of themselves make me fear for the world. I fear for those who are different, for those who can’t hide away like me. It is so unbelievably easy for me to ignore the world around me. If I truly wanted to, I could live deep and far away from civilization, even underground like some vampires. Away from humans and their stupidity.

But I don’t. I am a lonely man, always in constant need of contact. I’m like a child who cannot be left by themselves for too long. And I’m waiting for my soulmate to return. I will not go into hiding without them. And if they never wanted to hide, if they wanted to stay out here forever with these humans, that was fine too. I just don’t want to be alone anymore. 


	18. October 17, 1934

Simone and several of her students, only children no older than twelve, are in the hospital. The rest are either alive and at home or dead and buried in the ground. And it’s all thanks to a bomb someone had planted under the school. I should say it’s fortunate that the destruction isn’t worse, but I won’t. I can’t. Mothers and fathers are now childless. The community was outraged and police say they couldn’t figure out who did it.

It doesn’t take a genius to know just who committed this horrible crime. Samuel and some of the men in the community know exactly who did it. And they’re ready to fight them. Even if it means to the death. Even if it means torture and prison. They will not let their children’s deaths mean nothing.

I visited Simone in the hospital just a few nights before, sneaking into her hospital room after hours. And even as she lied on that hospital bed, she was more worried about her students than herself. The burns on the left of her body, her broken arm, her pain – none of that mattered to her. She just wanted to know how her students were doing. If they were going to be okay. And she wept for the ones she couldn’t save.

Those men who attacked her school made her feel like a failure. Those men who took the lives of innocent children made her blame herself. Simone was a good woman, a great teacher who only wanted the best for her children. I am indeed convinced she is Miss DuPont’s reincarnation. And like Miss DuPont, she wanted to fight. She still wanted to do what was right.

She held my hand tightly that night and all night, she cried until she exhausted herself. But I stayed until early morning, leaving just a little bit before the sun could rise. I didn’t want to leave her, but I can’t be by her side in the day. Only Samuel can do that. Only a human can.

She’s afraid for her students, for her brother, for everything. And while she worries, her brother and the people around her rage. Including myself. All she wants to do is teach colored children to be more than housekeepers or fieldworkers. Not every black child should be forced to think all they could do is manual labor for white people, she likes to say. And she’s right.

But even though things are supposed to be different compared to when blacks were still slaves, nothing has really changed. They are still treated lesser. And not even colored children are seen as anything more than a nuisance.

Simone knows about what Samuel and the other men want to do. “Revenge won’t work,” she had said. She wants me to talk “some sense” into Samuel and the other men. A few women as well. I can hear them up in the kitchen even now. They’re planning to find the men who killed their children. They already know who probably did it; near the school house is a farm owned by a man named Henry Moore.

Mister Moore has always been vocal about his “dislike” of his neighbors, using “colorful” and vile language I dare not repeat. But I’m sure you already know what he might have called Simone and her students. I don’t need to read minds to know that he’s a part of the KKK group in these parts. And Samuel and his friends don’t need to read minds either. They will find him and they will make him by. If the law won’t give them justice, then they’ll get it themselves. There’s no “sense” to be talked because they’re already right.

But I won’t let them go on a suicide mission. Mister Moore is protected by his fellow Klansmen and I know they sometimes have meetings there. I have heard them when I go out at night. Even last night, I had seen them gathered in his barn. They seemed to be in a celebratory mood. The police chief was there as well. They laughed, they cheered, they preached.

A black man cannot touch them. It would be suicidal for the entire community. Other Klansmen would come after them, lynch the men, beat and rape the women, get their own taste of twisted revenge. I had seen it before during the Reconstruction Era.

I have already failed to protect her twice. I let Andrew hurt her and I wasn’t able to foresee her school from being attacked. But I can at least listen to her pleas. I can protect Samuel and their friends. And I can also prevent this from happening again. Both of them and their mother have done so much for me and I’ve only ever said thank you? Given them a salary and a place to live? That isn’t enough when I can do so much more.

I will protect them. We didn’t need people like Andrew in this world. And we don’t need people like Moore either. 


	19. October 19, 1934

The night before had been eventful, to say the least. Samuel and his friends came over again, plotting in the kitchen. They had discovered Moore and some of his friends were meeting at his barn tonight. And they were planning on going to this meeting as well. Justice will be served, they said.

I told them they could use weapons from my collection. It’s actually Liam’s firearms collection, but he left it with me when he went to travel the world with Olivia. I never had a use for them, so I’ve kept them in the basement far from my office. Samuel was eager to use them, as were the others.

Except for two. A young mother named Celie and one of Samuel’s friend, Benjamin. They didn’t think a white man would want to help them. They didn’t understand why I cared either. They demanded to know if I was tricking them or if I was friends with Moore. I tried to assure them I was a friend, but they only got angrier.

“White folks have never been our friends,” Celie had shouted. She looked ready to attack me and I’m not sure if anyone would have stopped her initially. “You take whatever you want from us, you rape us, you killed my child! You ain’t my friend! You white bastards never been our friend! How can you be friends of someone you hate?”

I couldn’t even reply to that. I wanted to be angry, but there was really nothing I could say. At the time, I wanted to yell, but thinking about it now, she’s right. I may have never done any of those myself, but my people did. I may be a vampire, but I am as white as Moore. He didn’t know I was a vampire. He saw me as his equal, even if people like Celie and Samuel are more human than I ever will be.

Samuel had been able to calm her down though. He told her that I was all right, that I had done a lot to help him and Simone. He hadn’t said anything like that since what had happened with Andrew; it was relieving to hear that perhaps he had forgiven me at all. But it did hurt to betray his trust.

Once they had all been down in the basement, I locked them inside. Celie had been screaming, telling them how she had known I was just like the others. That I didn’t care, that I was going to get them killed. The other men and women were banging on the door, trying to break it down. But it had been locked and for good measure, I had moved a dresser in front of it.

Samuel begged me why. Why was I doing this? He asked if I cared. Didn’t I care about Simone? About the children? About everything she had worked for just to even get that school set up? She had worked so hard, so painfully hard, to have a school just for colored children. Only for a group of racists monsters to take it from her.

I told him Simone asked me to stop him. But I assured him I would return soon. That they would have their revenge and things would be all right. But I doubt they were listening by that point, screaming and trying to do everything they could to break down the door. I moved a large chair in front of the dresser just in case.

I thought of Abby and her children. Elijah had always been a man of peace, of civil disagreement. He would have been horrified if he knew what I had done. He never believed violence was the answer. It was a poetic stance, but perhaps overly idealistic. Abby and Ruth were very different though. So very different.

Ruth had always been a fighter, something I attribute to both Abby and Miss DuPont. Like Miss DuPont, Ruth didn’t believe in compromise. She would not settle for less compared to her white companions. Even during a time where it was unheard of him, she talked back. She raised her voice and demanded respect. She would not let any white man or woman lay a violent hand on her. And if they tried, she would have broken it.

And Abby would have probably wanted to come with me. She had never forgiven Connors for what he did to her and so many of her friends. And even after we had become closer, she never fully forgave the sins many white people committed or ignored. I’m sure a part of her still didn’t truly forgive me. Initially, it hurt to think she thought I was the same, but after the Civil War, I understood.

Standing by and watching idly from the side, simply thinking about how terrible things are, does not making me innocent. I am just as guilty for allowing horrors to last as long as they did right in front of me. Abby taught me this and I am grateful for it. I may not be able to end all horrors in the world, but I’m not incapable of fighting them. If I had never met Abby, I probably wouldn’t have learned to fight.

But I did more than just fight last night. My original plan was to simply go over to the barn and frighten them. Moore had been there, as well as the police chief, a police lieutenant, and two other white men. Moore had been worried that someone would find out about what they did, but the chief and lieutenant assured them that no one was going to know. They had everything covered.

I admit, I played games with them. I wanted to scare them. I wanted them to fear what could happen to them if they ever do this again. If they were to ever hurt the people I cared about, there would be a price to pay. Justice comes in all forms. And theirs would be dealing with a vampire that couldn’t be affected by an ordinary bullet or a metal bat.

I hid in the shadows and asked them if they were certain. Did they really have everything covered?

It had been amusing, watching them jump up and panic. They demanded to know who was there. Moore threatened violence, claiming that this was private property and I was trespassing. He had a point, so I didn’t address it. But I did say to him that trespassing is a much less serious offense compared to murder.

I came into the opening where they could actually see me. One of the men recognized me. “You’re that recluse guy that lives up on Cherry St! Benny Wright, right?”

Once he had said that, the fear on their faces went away. They had nothing to worry about if I was a reclusive man. Who would believe me if I told them? Moore and the police chief were popular among the white people in town. They reminded me of Connors. How no matter what he did, no matter how horrific he could truly be to people different from, he was loved and admired. And I hated people like them with all my being.

Moore placed a hand on my shoulder. “Listen, Wright, I bet you’re a sensible guy. Why don’t you just go back home and forget about all this, huh? No need to get into any fights.”

A kind way of warning me to leave before things got ugly. But I stood firm and told them that even if they were colored, they were still children. And they murdered twelve of them in cold blood, all because they couldn’t stand the idea that they were getting educated. That had no effect of their lives. It shouldn’t have bothered them. They were separate from the white children, just as they wanted. They were not asking for anything, just as they liked.

“That little nigger girl tried to get more funding and take away books from our kids,” Moore said. “And we warned her. Negroes get their funding and we get ours and she best leave it at that. But she didn’t. So we taught her a lesson.”

“So this was all just a warning to the girl, was it?”

He had laughing, slapping my back, telling me that he knew I would understand. And then he mentioned how “little negras need to be put in their place.” And if this didn’t drive the idea home, they had something else that would.

And when I saw him grab his crotch, my plan to scare them immediately fell through. All I can remember is yanking Moore forward and biting down hard into his neck. And the second my teeth felt his jugular, I ripped it out of him. I never knew a human could bleed so much from one spot. My clothes had been ruined and ended up burning them.

Someone screamed, but I couldn’t be sure who it was. One of them tried to hit me with a baseball bat, which had been foolish. It ended up snapping in two the second it came into contact with my back. But my fist lunged out; I hit the police chief directly in the best. At that point, both him and Moore were lying dead on the floor, one bleeding out and the other’s chest caved in.

I left the police lieutenant alive. He just sat there on the floor, shaking and terrified as he watched me, probably a monster from his very worst nightmares, break his friend’s neck before feeding violently from the other friend. I made sure he watched as the man I held to my chest was drained dry. Other vampires would have thought I was behaving like a Rogue, but this wasn’t a mindless frenzy. It was systematic. And it struck fear into his heart, just as I wanted.

The barn smelled of blood and urine by the time I finally turned to the lieutenant. His pants were soaked. He looked ready to faint. But I told him that he will leave Simone alone. He and his friends were to never come near that school again. They leave the colored people alone. Separate but equal, just as they wanted.

Then I apologized for the loss of his friends, reminding him that there had been an increase of recent wild animal attacks. He needed to be more careful in the future. After all, his friends hadn’t been and looked how they had ended up?

I’m still not sure if he understood what I was saying, but there has yet to be any marshals showing up at my front door. No Klansmen either. He must have at least knew that trying to fight against me was suicidal. He probably doesn’t know that I’m a vampire, but he is aware I’m not human. And he’s probably frightened beyond belief.

This is just what I wanted though. Simone may not forgive my cruelness, but it would keep her, her brother, and many others safe. Abby would have said this was for the better. Jamie wouldn’t have. But I have to agree with Abby. This was the better ending.

I had changed my clothes and quickly cleaned myself up before I freed Samuel and his friends from the basement. Samuel had first been angry with me, as were his friends. Celie tried to stab me with a kitchen knife, believing I had brought Klansmen to the house to kill them all. Only Samuel held her back, but he still demanded answers.

I assured them I was only protecting them. Simone nor any of the children, alive or dead, would have wanted them to get themselves killed. But I told them that justice had been serve. And that they should keep an ear out for any news to understand what I had meant. They probably have yet to know what happened, but perhaps by tomorrow, they would know.

“Thou shalt not kill” is a commandment. And those who break the commandments are condemned to hell. Moore and his friends are probably there now. I hope they’re suffering. I may join them one day, but not for only murder. According to Liam and other vampires I have spoken to, the day I became a vampire was the day my soul was lost. When I die, God will not take me. Adding more sins to the one I have as a vampire will not hurt.

I do not pray for forgiveness. I don’t want it, not for rightfully ridding the world of these men. I will no doubt be visited by other vampires once word of this got out. Vampires are not generally fans of us getting involved in human affairs, especially not when it involves murder. But I will not apologize for this. Never for this. 


	20. October 23, 1934

Simone came home this morning. She has permanent burns on her stomach and upper right thigh, but she’s one of the more fortunate ones. Two more students had died at the hospital. The rest are in stable condition, but some have lost limbs. One girl lost an ear and a young boy was blinded.

It pains me to know that Simone will likely blame herself for the rest of her life for this. All she had done was ask for a little more money. Just a little more to help supply her class with better books. More school supplies. Anything to help her students better themselves. And all it got her was angry bitter white men trying to kill her and innocent children.

The murders appeared in the papers. The news was also on the radio, both describing the deaths as “strange animal attacks.” Police Lieutenant Paul Smith had been interviewed. He said he was there and that it like an animal he had never seen before. He was just lucky to be alive. He wouldn’t answer any other questions, begging to be left alone. At least I know now that my threat actually did sink in. He didn’t want to make me an enemy. Smart man.

Samuel knew though. As did his friends. And when they confronted me, I specifically asked them not to tell anyone the truth. All they needed to know was that Moore and his friends would not hurt them or their children again. Not even Moore’s colleagues or fellow Klansmen would hurt them unless they wanted to answer directly to me.

Samuel didn’t think me and neither did Celie. The others did, expressing their gratitude over and over again until they had left. Celie never said anything to me. I know she’s relieved that she doesn’t have to worry about those men anymore, but I think she suspects something about me isn’t normal. I doubt she is aware I’m a vampire, but I should take caution around her. She

She’s definitely more intelligent than she’s given credit for.

Once it was only me and Samuel in the house, he asked me what I did. And he asked me why. Why didn’t I let him and the others be the one to avenge their families and their friends? Why did I get involved? And why did I leave one of them alive?

“Simone is my family too,” I said to him.

He seemed caught off guard, surprised even. So, I explained it to him. I am lonely. I am a hated creature that’s doomed to only come out at night. I can never see the sun again and my only companions will ever be those that accept me. Which is so much rarer than he thinks. We can find feeding partners, but hardly ever human companions willing to live with us out of fear. I am lucky I have Samuel and Simone living with me. Some vampires have no one at all.

But he, his sister, and even his mother have all lived with me willingly and have cared for me. Simone and Samuel have been with me since they were small. I trust them with my life and I care for them as if they were my own. They are my family and I will protect my family and those who matter to them. I was doing more than just avenging Simone; I was protecting him too.

He tried to argue he didn’t need to be protected. He was a man. I almost slapped him, but I held myself back. But I couldn’t hold back the anger from bursting through my voice. Being a man meant nothing. A man can still bleed. A man can still be tortured. And a man could still be killed. Simone didn’t want that for him and neither did I. Even if they had been successful in killing Moore and his friends, other Klansmen would have found them. And they would have murdered him and his friends. Celie and the other woman would have raped to death.

I asked him: was that what he wanted? For his revenge to amount to nothing but more death? And when he didn’t answer, I knew my point had been made. I understand what Samuel wanted; revenge is much sweeter when you are the one committing it, but this would have been too dangerous. The police were against them and they would have gone after every black person they saw

With Lieutenant Smith alive and lying about being attacked by some wild animal, the white men could not touch them. And even if Smith admitted to seeing a “monster,” they would be afraid. Probably terrified. They wouldn’t want to go anywhere near where they think an evil monster can see. And this way, not only will they not hurt Simone or the children again, they won’t hurt anyone else either.

Only then did Samuel thank me. It was quiet and I could barely hear it, but it was there. After that, he excused himself. He was grateful, but I know what he’s feeling. When I was his age, I thought I was a man too. I could do what I wanted. I was the one who needed to be a protector because that’s just what men are: they protect and provide.

Such foolish thinking. When I had become a vampire, I learned very quickly that being a man meant nothing. Men are not tanks. We break so much more easily than we think. We crumble, we cry, we bleed, and then we die.

It’s times like these that I remember that Samuel is still so young. Only nineteen and he has so much left to learn. But at least this way, he hadn’t just thrown his life away. Same goes to his friends. They were all so young, Celie being the oldest by only three years. They had more to live for; they clearly had passion. They could use that one day, I’m sure of it. Samuel especially. I can see it now. He’s going to do great things with the amount of passion and fiery in his body. I’m jealous, honestly.

Simone, I know you’re probably reading this. You asked for my journal when you came home. You wanted to know what had happened. Because you know I’m the one who killed those men, don’t you? I bet you’re not shocked either. You didn’t seem afraid of me when you came home, but you were solemn. Are you disappointed in me?

If you are, I cannot apologize. Nor will I. But I ask you to forgive me anyway. Those men were just like Andrew and they wanted to hurt you already more than they had. You have already suffered so much, even though you have never done anything to wrong anyone. You are like my daughter. I promised Amelia I would protect you and Samuel. I just don’t want you to have to hurt more than you already have.

We can speak about this when you’re done reading. I’m sure you have much to say. And I will always be willing to listen.


	21. October 28, 1934

It has certainly been eventful these past several days. I cannot recall getting so much news or visitors in this short amount of time. It actually made things quite lively. I’m going to miss it when it’s gone.

Though I had asked, it seems Samuel’s friends had told of their friends and family about what I had done. They thankfully fibbed, only saying that I been the one to protect the community. They didn’t mention that I had been the one to murder Moore or his friends. I do fear that some people have caught on to the idea that the deaths weren’t caused by vicious animals though.

But because they had told their friends, I have been receiving a lot of thank you gifts. Sometimes cards, sometimes food, occasionally some whiskey. A lot of times, people would come to me in the evening and give a personal thank you. Some even offered their services in case I needed anything. The gestures were more than kind, but it was a bit unnerving to be treated like a hero. I wasn’t a savior. I had just done the right thing.

Though, there are plenty who consider what I did a crime. Celie still thinks I’m suspicious and even though she’s glad those men are dead, what I did was brutal. Barbaric even. And Simone had been furious when she confronted me. She had only asked me to stop Samuel. She didn’t want me taking his place and becoming the murderer.

It took a while, but Simone has forgiven me for my “crime,” as she had put it. In the end, she was just glad that Samuel hadn’t been the one to do it and he hadn’t gotten hurt. She certainly didn’t agree with my methods though. But after reading my journal, she knew that murder had not been the intention at the beginning. I truly was going to simply scare them.

Rage is a very powerful thing. And it was what also left four men dead.

Well, I suppose technically five now. It appears that Smith committed suicide two days ago. He hung himself in his garage; his wife had found him. He wrote a letter and, according to various articles and poor photographs, it read “I cannot sleep, because even in my dreams, that demon is there and he’s watching me. He knows and he’s coming for me, I feel it. He’s the devil. And he’s coming for us. I love you, Mabel, and tell the girls I love them too. I just can’t keep going.”

I found it both poetic and rather arrogant of himself to assume I would dedicate my time into spying on his life. I honestly had no idea what had been going with him since that night. But he did not mention my name and didn’t know I was a vampire, so my secret is safe. I just hope that the fear he had is felt by his friends and they know not to do anything stupid.

Still, I do feel bad for his wife and his children. His wife is probably just as racist as he was, but she wasn’t completely heartless. She loved this man. And his children were too young to fully understand his bigotry. Now they were fatherless. And it was my fault.

My sins have grown from this. And even though this was a small affair in this county, this case seems to have drawn attention from the vampire council in this country. Two vampires came to my house last night. Cassandra and Noah. Both of them were very nice, very polite, but they still had meant business.

They only had a few questions for me though, nothing more and nothing less. They had read what happened and they knew I lived in the area. It didn’t take a genius to know this had all been my doing. They simply wanted to know why and warned me lying to them wouldn’t be taken kindly.

I had nothing to hide and I told them the truth. I was just protecting the people I loved. Fortunately, vampires have never had sympathy for men like Moore or his friends. The council wasn’t too bothered by it, but they wanted to make sure this wasn’t a Rogue attack or me becoming power hungry. I assured them I had no interest in becoming some powerful feared ruler; I’m not the leader type.

Still, Cassandra gave me a warning. While they understand the need to protect loved ones and stand up for what is right, I couldn’t abuse my powers and interfere with human affairs whenever I felt like it. If I tried anything like this again, there would be consequences.

After they had left, Samuel said that I should just ignore them because I did the right thing. I had to laugh; the attitude reminded me of Abby. She would have probably said the exact same thing. Sometimes doing what is right is far more important than bending over to obey stupid rules. And history had proven that to be true time and time again.

I do wonder what Abby would think about this. She had hated her master and people like him. She had once said to me that if she had ever had the chance, she would have killed Connors herself. She called him a monster. There were enough natural pains and tragedies in this world. Men like Connors didn’t deserve to exist. All monsters like him needed to be killed.

When she said that, I asked if she felt the same about Liam and I. We were both vampires, monsters that had once been human. But she just looked at me and said almost nonchalantly that we were not monsters. Definitely not humans, but she was not afraid of us. We didn’t hurt anyone or take advantage of others, despite our capacity to do so.

Monsters came in all sorts of shapes, she had said. Being a vampire did not automatically make me evil. She had seen evil. And Liam and I were nothing like the evil she had been forced to witnessed. We were not like Connors… And I was not like Moore or his friends. What I did to them may have been a sin in the eyes of God, but I have no regrets.

 


End file.
